No rest for the wicked.

After I'd composed myself, I hid the evidence that I'd been working on a dark magic spell to kill someone and then retreated to my quarters. I wanted to be alone, to feel safe, but most of all, I wanted release. I was tired of letting the Hero call all the shots. It was time to take the matter into my own hands.

I practically ran to my rooms, snapping at a maid who looked at me in the hall. The poor thing scurried away, likely deciding it was best not to piss off the Royal Mage. I hoped she assumed I was just in mourning, but I also didn't care. Fuck her. She was nobody.

Once inside, I tore off my dress and threw it in a heap by the hamper. I didn't even bother removing my stockings or shoes. I threw my body into the bed, thrusting my fingers between my legs in search of that relief I desperately needed. I was soaked. I knew that even as he humbled me the fucking Hero turned me on more than ever. He was everything I valued in a man. He was gorgeous and dangerous and powerful and violent. I loved him. I hated him.

His fluids spilled out of me, marking my flesh with his scent as I furiously fingered myself. His scent grew thick in my rooms as his seed soiled my towel. I'd be stuck with his smell in my rooms for a week. I didn't care. He owned me. He'd made that clear. It was only right that I'd sleep in his stink. I didn't care anymore. I just needed to get off.

I felt like a whore. I was a whore. I'd sold my body for a pile of spells. What did it matter? My fingers worked overtime, it didn't take long for an orgasm to loom over me. I welcomed it, embraced my shameful nature as I admitted to myself that I had no control over my own lusts anymore. The orgasm crested, my breath caught. My body tensed.

And nothing. The whole thing vanished as though it never was. Panting, I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling.

No. What? No!

I touched myself again, more desperately. It took very little time for another orgasm to rush over me, but as soon as it reached the tipping point, the moment of bliss, it vanished as well.

The Hero must have done something to me. Locked my ability to orgasm away from me. Reserved it for himself.

That did it. I was pissed.

I howled in anger and frustration, kicking and flailing on my bed like a child in a tantrum. I tore the linens from my bed and hurled things against the wall. I screamed and cursed until my voice failed, and then I collapsed into a pile of what had been my bedding and wept.

I had nothing. Nothing.

I felt utterly defeated. Betrayed by my own body. I knew if I had just this one thing left to me, I could endure the Hero's twisted games. At least for a while, I could endure him. But this was too much. By body ached. I burned for release. I'd never known such agonizing lust.

The air in my room felt cold against my hot flesh. My whole body smelled like him. Every part of me belonged to him. I had nothing left. I curled up into a ball of blankets on the floor and cried myself to sleep.

I didn't see the Hero again for six. Fucking. Days.

Each morning I awoke more anxious than the last. I longed to go to him and let him take me again. I'd let him. After those first few days, I'd have let him do anything to me. Instinctively I knew I'd be allowed to come if only it were by his hand. He held the key to my body. I was his plaything.

Each day I burned with an ever growing lust that consumed all my thoughts. I could barely concentrate on reports, or meetings. There was some slight diversion to be found in working magic, but the only thing left I was allowed to do was the **** potion. I pored over that spell, perfecting it. It was the only thing keeping me sane in the long unexplained absence of my master.

Each night I'd return to my room, thick with the scent of his manhood. It drove me wild with desire. I rolled in my sheets, breathing deeply of him. I masturbated furiously to no avail. And when I slept, the images were there to remind me what I was missing out on.

The **** spell became familiar to me as planned and designed every aspect of it. Creating new magic was complicated business, to be undertaken carefully.

I suspected that my master wouldn't reappear until I'd finished the task he'd given me, and he'd found a perfect way to keep me motivated. No magic, no orgasm. No relief until the job was done. So I did the job. I did it better than I'd ever done anything in my life. By the time I finished, that stupid **** potion might as well have been my soul. I waited for him in the library that night in nothing but a thin robe, hoping he'd return to fuck me senseless.

Still no Hero.

Night and day, day and night. My head was full of those screaming women. I screamed, too, when I woke. Frustrated. ****. I was ready to kill someone for just a taste of what they felt. I gave up touching myself after the third night. My body was sore, and it was no use.

Mephit. The last item on the list. What the fuck was a mephit?

It became my obsession. I combed every scrap of paper that had anything to do with dark magic. Nothing. I checked every index I could find. No mention of the word. I was on the verge of burning my entire library to the ground if I couldn't find out what a mephit was. I was convinced that was the answer. The Hero was testing me. He wanted me to finish the list.

I spent days on end in my library. I refused to sleep; it only made the lust worse, anyway. The castle believed I was expressing grief at the loss of my good friend, Anfony. I let them believe whatever they wanted as long as they left me alone. They didn't even seem to mind that I hadn't checked any of the enchantments that featured in the reports. None of them were that important, anyway.

When I'd finished parsing the last page of the last book in the enchantment section of my library, I hurled the book into a small table, knocking an artifact to the ground. It shattered. I didn't bother to see what it was. I didn't care. I'd failed. My master would never reward a failure like me.

Then I latched onto an idea. Maybe a mephit was something from his world. Not of my world. His world! My eyes turned to the small, heavily guarded section on summoning magic and otherworldly knowledge. I was **** enough to try anything. Most of the tomes there could only be opened by the Royal Mage. I could have cackled I was so happy. I was going to track down a fucking mephit if it killed me.