[b][u][center]The Distractions of Affection Part 7 For a-lycotonum By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b] The lab felt smaller by the day, and Sivar struggled to keep his smug sense of self-satisfaction alive. Every day in the presence of the Bitch-Dean – he couldn’t deny her title, but he could add to it – was another lesson in humility, another moment of humiliation for him as she put him through his paces time after time. Everything that she did was a reminder of how much power she had, and how much she could do to him if he ever crossed the line and pissed her off. He groaned as the weighted ring just under his cock tip dragged it down, forcing him to keep his cock spilled out of his sheath rather than allowing it to retreat. It was punishment for trying to do something to her the day before; he’d thought that maybe, just maybe, he could up her corruption if he could hit her in the face with some corrupted pre-cum, and had made the attempt when she was tying him up. He missed. For the last twenty-four hours, his cock had been tied down, pulled out of his sheath and left to dry, becoming ever more sensitive with the drying out of his flesh. He could feel every breath of air through the laboratory over it, and… And it was still humiliating him, because he was getting into it. The sheer control of the Bitch-Dean was driving him mad, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny that he was getting off on some of it. The were-rat growled under his breath as he imagined what he’d do to her if he ever got free, but at the same time, his cock throbbed whenever he was reminded of the burn marks on it. Something that he was reminded of right at that moment as he looked down. His dick twitched upwards, the finger-burns along his shaft still there, still obvious from the shocking grip of her hand. He growled under his breath, shaking his head quietly. She was right there, too. Just a few feet away, right on the other side of the barrier that she kept around him. He couldn’t hear her, but he imagined she could hear him. What was she thinking, he wondered? And how much was she resisting the corruption he’d left within her? [i]Damn Bitch-Dean…can’t just…fall in line…like all the other horny whores…[/i] From the kiss to the little oral that he’d given her the day before to the other micro-additions of corruption that he’d managed to sneak over – from sweat on her hand to the little spit along her foot – he had felt the corruption growing in her. Any other bitch would have been on her hands and knees begging for dick by now, but if anything, she only grew more powerful, more authoritative. And the times that he found her looking at him with need, it was with the urge to break him, to use him for her pleasure, rather than to submit to his and beg for relief the way that Sivar was used to seeing his victims behave. It was mildly terrifying. As a matter of fact, it sent shivers down his spine and kept him possessed of a fear boner. And it was worse as he felt something in the distance, something that was marching through the city and getting ever closer. The were-rat didn’t need to be a mage to know what it was; it could only be his master, the aasimar Brundir, and whatever else he had brought along for a meeting. Or…perhaps more. The incubus inside him felt something too, but he wasn’t privy to that information. Fucking bastard of a thing; hadn’t helped him at all since being imprisoned. Yet… Yet, if Brundir was making his way across the city, that meant that there was a chance that he might get free. Not if the Bitch-Dean was still in full control of her faculties, however, and that meant that he had to do something. Anything. [i]Gotta try…gotta try…[/i] Hating the fear that leaped into his throat at the idea of intentionally attracting her attention, Sivar flicked his tail against the rune-wall in front of him. The bell-tone the impact created made him fold his ears back, but it also got her attention. The dark-skinned woman turned from her alchemy table, flicking one gauntleted finger to the side. It opened a small hole in the magic wall between her and him, too high for his cock to reach, right at eye-level. “Do you require the chamber pot, again?” she asked. “No.” “Then why are you wasting my time?” “I…want to…cooperate,” he said, hoping that it was a convincing lie and not a fearful truth. “I’ll do what you tell me.” “Hmmph. Doubtful.” “I get it now. I get it.” It physically sickened him to say something like this, but he had to try. “I understand you’re stronger. I get that you’re…better. I…I can’t do anything to you.” Truth enough. Strong as a were-rat was against the average person, it was fucking useless against someone like her. Too weak, too small to do anything but piss her off. Sivar’s cheeks burned the more that that thought lingered, but he forced himself to keep talking. “I’ll do what you say. I just…I can’t tell you his name. That’s the only thing I can’t do.” “His.” “…Yes.” Dammit. “That’s all I can’t do.” “…Let’s test that.” Test – The walls dropped the rest of the way, and the Bitch-Dean gestured at the chains that held him suspended. He yelped as he was finally dropped to his feet, falling to his knees a moment after. He groaned under his breath, shaking his head as the dark-skinned woman stood over him, slowly pushing him back with what he guessed was some sort of wall of force, pinning him to the wall behind him. “I’m going to give you one chance. And one chance only. If you don’t do everything that I ask, then you will be locked up more strictly than ever before. I will never allow you freedom again. Do you understand me?” “I…understand,” Sivar hissed through his teeth. He understood that he had to do something to break her here. If this plan failed, then he had better hope that his master broke through the walls of the Arcanamirium and took him back, because if not, this woman was going to do everything in her power to break him down into whatever she thought was ‘suitable’ for him. And she could do it. That was the scary part. She wasn’t just powerful enough to break him, but she had the drive and the will, and the curse that he’d put inside of her – something that had broken lesser people – had only unlocked some of her restraint. The idea of her sacrificing herself to help others was something that he’d hoped would be sufficient to give him an opening, but the more that he studied her, the more he realized it was the opposite. She would hold back to make sure that others were safe. When it came to herself, she would not; she would let loose everything, regardless of the collateral damage. [i]Don’t mess this up…don’t mess this up.[/i] She released the wall of force, and – with her eyes locked on him – slowly reached for her boots. As she untied one, drawing her foot free, his nose caught the scent. Wet. Musky. A hint of sweat and more from it; she hadn’t had the chance to wash so recently, or hadn’t been bothered enough to do it. He hoped that meant that the corruption was sinking in, that the lack of desire to be clean that was inherent to most were-rats had made her forget. Or was it something else? She slowly ground her foot against his face, the sweat along the sole seeping through his fur and leaving a hint of her scent behind. His cock jumped in a fear-erection, and she shook her head. “Do not touch it.” “Nnngh…” “Now, kiss.” She wanted…he could do that. He could do that. He had to be careful, though. Miniscule amounts of curse. No more. Tilting his head, he slowly dragged his lips against her sole. The flesh was soft, damp, and yet firm. She pressed down against the front of his muzzle as he kissed her sole, nudging his lips against it until – “Ah.” It was barely more than a single indrawn breath, but he heard it. More than that, the incubus in him felt it. The pleasure was there, the rushing hunger. It surged forward – And for the first time in his life, Sivar restrained his urges. Patience, the were-rat thought. Patience. He couldn’t just do that. He had to take his time. Lunging forward now would kill them both. Instead, he worked his tongue along the toes, kissing them before flicking his tongue between the digits. The taste of a warm foot was not unfamiliar to him; he had held a number of bitches on their backs and slathered their feet with his spit while they were begging to be fucked. That wasn’t a problem then; here, it was something different, something more embarrassing. Here, he had to do this, was commanded to, and following orders sent a chilling, embarrassing shudder down his spine. And yet, his cock twitched, annoyingly aroused by the whole matter. He ignored it, focusing on the way that she reacted, how the human curled her toes, how her breath caught from time to time as he kissed, licked, and kissed again along the bottom of her foot. Kiss. Lick. Nuzzle. He spent his time building it up, making sure that it felt as good as it possibly could. Every touch of his tongue, every kiss he left behind, was as subservient and as servile as he could make it. He shivered, and he knew that she was picking up on his arousal underfoot. All he could hope was that she was believing that it all came from a willingness to be under her rather than something more sinister. Or at least, not entirely that. He hated how his body enjoyed this. He was a rat, for crying out loud, not a mouse. He was supposed to be on top of the Bitch-Dean, not under her. But for now…for now, he would pretend, and he would go with it until he had a way around it. As he licked, as he lapped and kissed and worshiped her foot, he could feel her arousal growing. The demon within could feel her hunger, her need, her heat getting stronger and stronger. Not strong enough to control directly, but enough for her to start making stupid decisions…if it went on long enough. He half-hoped that she’d reach down and start touching herself, but the Bitch-Dean was smart enough not to do that. Instead, she just shifted position, the slightest hint of a smirk popping onto her face as he kissed his way along her arch, making his way back up to her toes. His mind raced as he breathed out those tiny little bursts of corruption, so slight that they’d never be felt, but they’d slowly add up… He hoped… And before she started to go completely out of control. That hunger was getting stronger and stronger in the Bitch-Dean, and he’d seen what could happen when someone held off too long. That need was sufficient to break someone, and the longer that it was held back, the harder – and more unpredictably – they broke. # [i]She moved a rook forward, looking at the game board. The other side’s King stood before her, a battalion of knights and more behind him. The board made no sense from a chessmaster’s perspective, but it was less a standard game and more of a representation of a greater one. “A game with such high stakes. Mmm, I do love such things.” Her rook left the defensive line of her knights, approaching the King and his bishop…[/i] # Gralon Brundir stood before the walls of the Arcanamirium, the light of his devil-as-Deva glowing at his shoulder as he considered the defenses of the massive academy. The walls were no longer the bright, standing beacons that they had once been; the city was not so against the Arcanamirium as he had hoped, but the pride that the city had once held in the institution was split down the middle. Some still believed that they had good reasons for being distant from the rest of the city, while others believed that it was time that they were brought in line with the rest of the priesthoods and other magical forces in the city. Unfortunately, the same splitting had occurred among those that believed in him. His contracts held firm with the people in power, but among the commoners – “You! Aasimar! What is your purpose here?” Like the gateman. The red-coated old man striding out from the barely-cracked gate would never have talked to him like that just a few weeks back, or even a few days ago. Yet, the incidents since had damaged his formerly sterling reputation in the city. What he’d do next would take it further, perhaps irreparably. [i]It’s all for the cause,[/i] he told himself. [i]All for the cause.[/i] He ignored the soldier, focusing his mind on his own magic. For all that he had made deals with Dispater for the power of the devil at his side, for all that his greatest might came from the connections that he had forged during his days as an adventurer and since, he was more powerful than most could understand. The purple-furred, bovine-faced aasimar lifted his arms out to his sides, a powerful swell of his own magic spreading from finger to finger, and then up his arms. “This is the Arcanamirium. No magic is allowed here without authorization from the academy staff. You will cease this now.” Lord Brundir put the human out of his mind. The older man was crotchety and bad-mannered, but he would deal with that later. For now, he would bring the walls down. It was all that he could do, if he wanted to keep the plan on track. Dispater had made the consequences of doing anything less than his best utterly clear: anything less than a best-effort to take his underling back would be met with his imprisonment in the depths of hell, and the plan would be brought to a complete halt. He could not let that happen. The gateman was nearly to him. Gralon shook his head, tilting his head. His horn glowed, and a small spell burst forth. A simple push, to get the man out of his way – SHING! And then, the spell split. The aasimar had a split-second to see the mustached man with two blades in hand, the spell on either side of him, before he was charging forward. The points of the blades were lowered, pointing right at his chest. Brundir’s attention was fully on the walls, and the spell he had summoned couldn’t be turned. For a moment, he thought he was about to die. Then the glow flitted in front of him. He knew what the devil was thinking: it was a mortal, unlikely to kill it, and it would fit with the role of a Deva to stand in the way of a threat to its master. It was merely following orders. The blades stopped. Time seemed to stand still. The glow of the Deva went red, and the gateman’s eyes widened. The minor devil impaled on the blades was revealed, if only to the pair of them, and the gateman’s blades, as if on instinct, split apart. Twin halves of the bisected devil flared with light, and it disappeared. Dead. Gone. And so were the walls. # [i]She tsked softly, shaking her head as she removed the bishop from the board. “One down, and one – yes, expected.” Her ‘rook’ was thrown backwards, bouncing off a wall of pawns that were shattered and blasted to pieces. She rolled it off the board, but noted that it was only cracked, not destroyed. The rook would be back in another game. “And now, the fun part begins.”[/i] # Nthabi gasped as she sat up, drawn out of the needy little trance that she’d slipped into by the explosions that rocked the chamber. Her lab rattled and rolled, and only a rapidly cast spell kept the volatile vials of chemicals from falling to the floor and setting the whole place ablaze. She was amazed that it worked; her voice had come out shrill and gasping, considering it had coincided with… She bit her lips as she dragged herself to her feet, shivering from head to toe as the pleasurable juices of her own orgasm ran down her thighs. Her cheeks were on fire as she looked back at the were-rat that she’d been sitting on, his face half-crushed from her muscles tensing on him, his face fluff matted down with the sweat she’d worked up from sitting on him. [i]I just…[/i] The realization that she’d fallen far enough to have ordered this criminal to not just worship her feet – a command that she’d thought she’d given to humiliate him, but had only aroused her further – but had taken it further, to have him worshiping her ass…She shook her head. The walls were still shaking with the power leveled against them, and she needed to do something to stop that from getting worse. “You. Stay,” she said, pointing at the floor. “If you move from that spot…” Her prisoner said nothing, but nodded. That was enough for her. Gathering her boots and her pants, she dressed rapidly and darted out of the lab. If the academy was under attack, then she was meant to be the first line of defense. # [i]She watched a queen rise from the wall of pawns, sliding forward along the game board. It was no longer anything resembling a true game of chess, merely using the pieces as markers, but that was fine. She had never planned to play chess to begin with. “Yes, yes. A King without his bishop…but still with plenty of knights…” She looked past the King in the shattered part of the board, past him to the line of knights that had assembled near the edge of the board. A little pawn beside them, leading them, a piece put to use near far more powerful beings. But this time, that piece might have something else, a chance to twist, perhaps…[/i] # Mika Halstad stood before the line of battle-priests that had been ‘donated’ at the call of her master, and she stared in shock at what her master had done. “Gods…” She was not the only one to be shocked to their core at the revelation of the aasimar’s power. The walls of the Arcanamirium had stood for centuries, raised by magic of god and man and elf, reinforced with the currents of power that came from above and below. They had withstood who knew how many apocalypses, but now… The great might of the aasimar’s magic had rent a hole right down the center of the wall, pulling it open and exposing the courtyard on the other side. The academy’s defenses had been ripped in two. Mika knew her job. She was to bring the battle-priests forward, to release them to the fight. It was her chance to show her master that she could follow orders, that he could trust her. Everything that she had been to him, every faithful fantasy of being his good servant who would earn her place in his bed and his heart, cried out for her to give the order and send the battle-priests in. It would begin and end the fight right then and there. But… She didn’t know why. There was something missing. She’d seen a flash between her master and the gateman that had been so defiant to her before, but hadn’t quite understood what it was. Her master had won, of course – he always won – but there was something…something missing as the walls fell. Some…something felt…wrong. And more than that, the sight of the master’s power, for the first time, terrified her. At all other times, she had admired what he could do, but now? Now, she wondered what would happen if that ever turned against her. She wondered what would happen if it was ever unleashed towards those she cared about. She wondered, and she feared him. As she hesitated, Lord Brundir stepped through the crack he’d made in the walls, only to be met by the fiery walls of the academy’s magic. He fought back, his spells sweeping against the onslaught, but he was already being held, pinned in place. The master was on the defensive, and – And that was what snapped her out of it. Mika Halstad, judge of Absalom, waved her hand through the air. “Attack! The mages have shown their true colors! Attack!” # [i]She shook her head. “So close…but I suppose it was too much to hope for.” The two-toned pawn changed back to black, leading the charge of the knights toward the current conflict between the Black King and her arranged pieces. The queen, Nthabi, was already holding her own, pushing back against the other side’s spells, and other powerful pieces were marshalling their magics to hold back the ‘knights’ that were coming with the pawn. Of course, such a conflict was a stalemate, at best. The board was swarmed on all sides, and they were focusing ever tighter on the school. The other side could overwhelm them through sheer numbers; sufficient pawns would eventually snuff out her bishops, knights, and other queens. But they had a weak point. And she was already working that point to the nth degree. She smiled, tapping the pawn off the board, representing such a great distance, and yet, shimmering with a darkness that was no different to the Black King’s on the board itself. “Almost there…”[/i] # Gralon Brundir gritted his teeth as he forced his will against the defenses of the Arcanamirium. Glowing walls of magical light pushed down on him, grinding against the pillar of light that he’d summoned around himself. [i]Where are you, Mika?[/i] The plan had been for him to rip open a hole in the wall and have the battle-priests come flooding through. The immediate surge of power would have been more than sufficient to keep the academy from plugging the hole or trying to push them back out. It would have taken all of two minutes for them to reach the main building of the Arcanamirium, and from there, the battle would have been in his favor. Not certain, by any means, but no longer so doubtful. And yet, Mika was not there. Some few of the battle-priests were making it through the gap, joining him, but they were fighting for survival rather than staking their claim. The delay had cost them, cost them more than he wanted to admit, and now… “Nnngh…” Gralon swept his hand out before him. It cost him spells that he did not wish to spend so early, but walls of Force and Fire ripped the air before him. Magic that had been containing him was cut at the source, and he felt the speckles of light in the distance fade as mages were knocked unconscious from the backlash. He took one step forward, then another. All around him, purple fire marked where his will fought against a plethora of other powers. The Deans were starting to wake up and take part in the battle, and that meant that they were assembling their full forces against him. The godly power of the battle-priests was growing at his rear, and they would soon join him, but first – The earth exploded before him. He reacted instantly, bringing his hand up, and a piece of the broken wall leaped before him. It shattered into pieces, but so did the boulders summoned from below the ground. When the dust cleared, he faced one of the Arcanamirium’s Deans. He felt her power sheathing her in armor not unlike the plated metal that she already wore, and the fact that she could wield that power through that much protection was a testament to her abilities. The horned aasimar shook his head. “Out of my way, Nthabi,” he muttered. “The Arcanamirium stands. And you, sir, have shown your true colors,” the dark-skinned woman said, tossing her hair back, her braids thumping against her armor. “You have taken one of mine.” “We arrested a criminal in the process of committing a crime on our grounds.” “He is not yours to punish.” “Nor yours to protect.” She stood in the way. That was all that mattered to him at that point. Dispater had made the consequences of failure all too clear; the Archdevil would not allow him to pretend that this had nothing to do with him, nor would he allow the aasimar to abandon an underling. It was the one time that he wished that his patron would have been more akin to the demons; at least they understood the value of a lie. [i]If I could have avoided this…[/i] He knew that his reputation was in tatters. The loss of his devil had done more than just ripped a source of protection and connection to the underplanes from him. His devil had been part of making so many deals, been involved in the marking and corruptions of so many mortals in the city. Without it, there was the possibility of others coming to their senses, of the plan crashing down around him. Even if he could hold out, he’d been manipulated. One botched mission had allowed the mages to turn his public message against them into one against him, and now… The crumbling walls at his back were no different to the way that his reputation would be viewed in the city tomorrow. Unless he won – and he had scant enough hope of that – he wouldn’t be able to recover his pristine image. He would bring fear, rather than hope, and cause confusion, at best, rather than confidence. But there was no choice. None. He had to – # [i]It was done. The bonds snapped. She smiled as the pawn in the distance glimmered, and the advance of the black pieces stopped.[/i] # “[i]Master![/i]” Gralon’s eyes went wide. The sudden interruption of a messaging spell was the last thing that he had expected during the battle, let alone one from Neena Mattas. The fact that she could even bother to get in touch after the last spat he’d had with her was impossible to believe; her timing was worse. “Not now,” he muttered. “[i]No, master, it’s important. I found him. I found Vitus![/i]” His eyes went wide. The words were as magic as they were impossible. Vitus had been found? She’d claimed such days ago, when he’d last been in touch with her, but that had been impossible. She’d said that he’d turned up in Cheliax, the home of other devil-worshipers and emulators, and – “[i]He’s here. I’ve seen him. And, um, he’s kind of captured me, but I think that I can turn that around.[/i]” Vitus. Captured. Her. It shattered his concentration, and the next spell from Nthabi sent him flying through the air. # [i]As the Black King fell back, falling among the crowd of knights that had come to support him, she smiled. Golden curls fell down the sides of her face as she leaned back from the board. “And that…is game.” It would hardly be the last one, of course; she doubted that Lord Brundir would see it as acceptable to have lost to her, but that was fine. As long as he understood that he’d lost once, he would take the next game more seriously. He wouldn’t make so many mistakes at the start, and that would keep them from having to escalate it to this extent again. As the black knights clustered around the King, she gathered her own pieces back into a wall. Nthabi’s Queen stepped forward, sealing the gap, ready to strike in any direction, while other rooks and bishops supported her. Another queen stood at the far edge of the board, waiting to step in if needed, and her own White King stood at the back of the board, ready to move, but hoping not to. As it turned out, it didn’t need to do anything. The other side was in full retreat; the King had been compromised, and they would not risk anything further. Not now. After all, all he needed…was a loophole.[/i] # Gralon slumped against his supporters, letting himself be dragged away as he fought to keep a smile off his face. The aasimar had been pushed right to the limits of his endurance before he was pushed away from the walls, and that had happened due to an ‘attack’ from his supporter that Dispater would accept. Or at the very least, the Archdevil would understand. And more than that, it gave him something else that he [i]could[/i] use against his sponsor. He could use his own rules against him. [i]Neena is in a foreign land, completely on her own, captured by someone that matters more than Sivar ever did,[/i] he thought. [i]It is hierarchy in action. I am [b]required[/b] to take an active hand in this, and put this to the side for now.[/i] There were things that would need to be smoothed over, of course. There would need to be something put out to explain away whatever story that the Arcanamirium was putting together against him. They had a witness – that damnable Gateman wouldn’t have died from that repulsion spell, he knew that much – but he could spin that, use it. A simple lie that he had been possessed, fooled by the lack of his Deva… It would damage his reputation, yes, leave him looking less than invulnerable, but it would be better that than to let them think that this was all planned. A temporary blame shifted to the lower planes would go a long way, and it needn’t even be shifted onto Dispater; he could use this to gain approval from his master in the lower world by putting it on one of the other Archdevils, allowing Dispater to gain further power in the hierarchies of Hell. “Master?” Mika. Gralon groaned as he lifted his head, leaning on one of the battle-priests as he was dragged along. The judge, his pawn, looked up at him with fear in her eyes. Something had come loose in the battle, and she didn’t have the same faith in him that she once had. In some ways, that was almost a relief. He shook his head. “We’ll regroup. There’s a better way forward…and a chance for something [i]far[/i] more rewarding.” “My brother?” He barely restrained himself from laughing in her face. Her brother. Her brother. That were-rat that had been the source of all this trouble, who had been a thorn in his side from the moment that he’d been freed from jail. The man that had barely been useful in the slightest, and had now cost him almost everything? She thought he would still come around and free – No. He would not let that show on his face. Mika was one of the few allies he had left. He could not afford to alienate her. He needed her on his side. And so, he lied. “Soon,” he said. “When we have a better plan, when we know what we need, we’ll be back…” And hopefully, by then, Sivar would no longer be needed. [b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b] Summary: The Battle for the Arcanamirium begins, and all sides are trying something different. Tags: M/F, Femdom, Rat, Were-Rat, Human, Foot Fetish, Rimming, Fight, Chess Game, Magic, Aasimar, D&D, Series,