An Elven in the Lair of the Lich

This story was commissioned by an anonymous client who graciously allowed me to post it publicly. If you enjoyed it and want a commission of your own, my base rate is £0.03 a word. The story will consist of three chapters, and I hope that you enjoy each and every one of them.

Let us begin:

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Pythia awoke in the darkness and for the longest time, she could not recall exactly how she had got there. She felt the first faint stirrings of panic in her gut but **** them down with a burst of willpower. Her body was aching and she felt as if she’d just been in a fight; with a groan, she took to her feet. There was a wall of solid stone behind her and she used this as a guide, leaning against it to help herself up.

It was very dark. As an elf, Pythia could see with even the faintest presence of light but here there was nothing at all. She reached out and all too soon, her hands brushed a wall before her and one to each side.

She was in some kind of cell.

A cell with no door!

Being trapped in the darkness with no way out was a nightmare for most, but Pythia refused to give in to terror. She took a deep breath; the air was foetid but fresh. That meant it had to be able to get in somehow which meant that maybe she still had a way to get out.

“Herwig?” She called, more out of hope than belief that she would be answered. There was no returning cry. Her familiar was gone.

Dead? Pythia bit her bottom lip, but quickly shook her head in denial. No, she would know if Herwig was dead. She would feel it through their bond. But she wasn’t in range anymore, that was for sure.

What in all the hells had happened?

Having explored the room, Pythia sank to the floor, half sitting with her back still leaning against the wall. The cell was small; there were no doors or windows. There was no bed. There was no way for food or water to be delivered.

Was this how she was to die? **** didn’t frighten her. As a Duskwalker, she’d died once already though she didn’t remember much of that. It had been a different life; a different person. But the memories lurked somewhere in her soul and sometimes she felt as if she could just about reach them. Right now, they were rattling infuriatingly in her skull. Dancing just beyond her metaphorical fingertips.

Well, it didn’t matter. She didn’t intend to die here. To pass the time, Pythia made a quick accounting of what resources she had. Her familiar was gone. Gone but not dead. With luck, Herwig would be looking for her but she couldn’t count on that. She had her robe, a long black thing that was more of a dress if she were totally honest. It clung to her body, silky and dark. She did not have her pouch, a bag of holding that she’d had slung over her back when she had gone into the ruins. What had happened to it, she did not yet know but it was not currently within her possession.

Time passed. It could have been minutes or hours, she had no real way to tell sitting in that dark little alcove. With nothing else to do, Pythia sat, ordered her mind, and tried to remember what had happened.

There had been a ruin. An old underground dungeon had been opened to fresh air by a recent earthquake. No sooner had the walls been breached and the way to the surface made clear than undead had swarmed from it. The people had been in grave danger and it was all the local guard could do just to keep back the zombies and the skeletons. Pythia had known that if any more powerful undead were released from the dungeon, they would have no hope of stopping them at all.

That was why she had gone there. A Duskwalker, undead were her natural enemy. She had the ability to face them in a way that few others could. And she was a witch! She had command of magic, mastery of herself. Her power had seen her victorious many times before.

But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? The sheer amount of undead was strange. Something had to be attracting them. Something buried deep in the dungeon.

Something powerful.

She’d hoped to find an artefact. Something powerful. Something which could interfere with the flow of life and ****. For a time it looked like she’d done exactly that. Pythia and Herwig had fought their way to what they thought was the core of the dungeon and there they had found the remnants of an ancient laboratory. Some wizard long dead had dwelt here, experimenting with life and ****. The things that he or she had left were what had stirred the undead into a frenzy.

But just as Pythia had reached for the first of the artefacts, there had come a dreadful wail! A scream which grated her very soul. Something small and fast had slammed into her and she’d been hurled against the wall. She’d whipped around with a spell on her lips, but then a great and crushing **** had descended upon her.

She remembered Herwig wailing. She remembered the feeling of the strength leaving her body.

Most of all, she remembered the skull which had hovered before her. Human but yellowed with age. Gleaming with studded gems of all sizes. The horrible light which had burned in its sunken sockets had haunted her into the blackness which had stolen all thought.

And now she was here. If she was to guess, she was still in the dungeon but deeper now. Hidden away. Without Herwig, she couldn’t prepare her spells and she seemed to have no way to escape. The question was, why was she still alive in the first place? There was no doubt that the skull had been a demilich. Probably the last remnants of the very same wizard who had caused all these problems in the first place.

But Demilichs didn’t capture intruders. They killed them on the spot. They defended their last resting places with an instinctive drive. They were not fully unintelligent like most forms of undead, but nor were they the total of the person they once had been. Intruders were attacked on sight and drained of vital energies.

If Pythia had indeed lost a fight to a demilich, she had no right to still be breathing at all.

And yet here she was. Bruised a bit but definitely alive.

How very curious.

Having already died once inured her a bit to the chance that she was about to do so again. Pythia felt a strange mixture of tension, wariness and curiosity. The undead were her foe and she had studied them greatly. She knew how a demilich was supposed to operate and this was not it.

Something had changed about it. Something was new.

Before Pythia could make any progress figuring it out, she felt a crackle in the air. A sense of potential which raced across her skin. Magic! The world spun around her and instantly-

-she was somewhere else. A teleport spell! Either grounded in the cell or cast on her with a delay before she had been put into it. Her head was spinning and she lurched unsteadily forward. There was light in this room and the sudden transition from darkness to bright stabbed at her eyes. She blinked rapidly and the room came into focus.

She was standing in a massive chamber. Larger than the previous cell by far. A thick fog of shadow had been driven back by burning torches placed along the walls. In the centre of the chamber, there was a large throne and upon that there lay a pile of old, mouldy bones. Floating above that pile, there was the glittering skull. It was looking at her, a cold blue-darkness in the sockets of its eyes.

Around it, many skeletons were gathered. Each etched with runic inscriptions. Pythia could sense the raw magic which pulsed through their bones just as blood had once pulsed through their flesh. She turned her head, seeking some escape. The rest of the chamber was taken up by a series of pillars which rose from the ground to support the massive, vaulted ceiling. Chains and manacles hung from them, dangling like metal vines from a stone forest.

There was no way out there. Pythia turned back to the floating skull, the demilich was observing her with chilly interest yet it had not yet moved to attack. Again, something that it should have done instantly as soon as it saw her.

And then it did something else that was new to the elven witch.

It spoke.

“Duskwalker,” the voice was old and dry. It came from within her own mind, vibrating through the structures of her bones. “I know your kind of yore. Ancient enemies to those who defy the laws of mortality.”

“**** and life is a cycle,” Pythia said, not really thinking. Her eyes were still darting back and forth, trying to find a way out. Fear threatened to overwhelm her, but she held on grimly, her stubborn nature allowing her to maintain control even in the face of what seemed a certain end. “Deny one and you deny the other. What use is existence without life and joy?”

“You sound like a druid,” the demilich ‘’said’’. “But your magic is not like theirs. I thought at first it was Arcane, like mine. But that is not the case either.”

“Is that why I am not dead yet?”

The lich made a high, rasping sound. She realised that he was laughing.

“No,” he said. “You are not dead because I have need of you. You are an elf. In life, I had a great love for elves. They were my favourite slaves and concubines.”

“I will never be your ****.”

He only laughed again.

“Not only are you an elf, but you are also a Duskwalker. To break you and bend you to my will would be a great sign of mastery among my peers.”

“What peers could you have skulking here in the dark?” She spat. “You’re alone but for the mindless presence of the dead.”

“That is correct,” the demilich said. “But soon I will not be alone. Soon I will have you, elf. And you will serve me with all of your mind and body.”

Pythia’s hand moved to her belt and unclipped a knife. She spun, lancing it through the air towards the hovering skull. It was more a gesture of defiance than an actual attempt to harm the lich, though. One of the skeletons simply stepped in and took the hit.

“Where is your magic?” The demilich taunted. “You are a caster like me and yet here you stand in the lair of your enemy. Where is your power, Duskwalker? Where is your rage?”

With my familiar, Pythia thought. Without Herwig to cast through, I’m as good as helpless.

She didn’t let that knowledge show on her face though. Instead, she gritted her teeth.

“Why is it that you can talk at all?” She spat. “A Demilich is almost a mindless thing. The mad remnant of a true lich. You should be nothing.”

“I am everything,” the demilich said. “Awakened. Empowered. I am not some sad shadow of my former self, but the full and complete being. I am Admetus the Unconquered and you will serve me. Sooner or later.”

“I would die first.”

“Fortunately, I do not recall giving you that choice.”

The lich cast. She didn’t know what spell it was. All she knew was one moment she was standing and the next she was flying through the air. She tumbled, rolling as she hit the ground. Pain flared through her body and her head was once more spinning. Some kind of **** spell? The skeletons poured forward then. Disoriented, Pythia could only struggle as their bony hands closed around her dark blue skin. They were strong, their bones hard like iron. Their sightless eyes without pity or remorse. Admetus hovered and watched as his minion dragged her to her feet and **** her back towards the forest of pillars.

The chain rattled and clanked at her passage. Her head was spinning but she was getting stronger by the moment. The skeletons pressed in all around her, but skeletons were not on their own particularly strong. If she could just get her head together, she could-

Click! One of the metal manacles was closed around her wrist. The second followed around the other. Pythia fought but the skeletons pulled the chains tight, forcing her hands up above her head. She growled, struggling to free herself but without Herwig, there was no way that she would be able to get loose.

Admetus floated closer, hovering eerily above the stone-tiled ground.

“You will serve me,” he said. “But my slaves do not require clothes or dignity.”

One of the skeletons came forward, holding the very knife that she had flung at them before. Pythia growled in the back of her throat, her heart was beating wildly. The tip of the blade glinted as the skeleton pressed it against her upper chest. She tried to shy away but the chains held her in place.

The knife slashed down! She felt an explosion of cold air against her pale blue skin. The dress was shredded. There was no pain, the cut had been a careful one but she still felt the blood rushing to her face. A sense of unreality gripped her as the skeleton took the blade and cut her dress again. Pythia gasped; her chest strained. Each time the knife came closer, she was sure that it would be followed by a surge of pain.

Inch by inch, strip by strip, her dress was cut away. Pythia tried to fight it, she kicked out, but manacles were connected to her ankles as well, and pulled tight so that she could only barely stand. Her face coloured, heat flowing to it as she was exposed in front of the demilich. Pythia, like most elves, had a slender body. She was beautiful, with dusk-blue skin and long, toned legs. Her chest was large and standing as she was, she was **** to thrust it forward. Her hair was dark, hanging above her shoulders.

Humiliation burned inside of her, churning within her body as her clothes were torn from her. Part of her was screaming, **** to find any way out. The rest of her crushed that part, holding herself together with willpower and discipline. She knew that there would be an escape. She just had to be able to spot it when it arrived.

When the dress was cut away, Pythia stood in only her undergarments. She was breathing fast, her body felt weak but Her mind was strong and she was determined not to break.

She glared at the demilich, at Admetus, trying to channel her helplessness into rage and defiance.

“What is your name, elf?” The lich asked.

She spat at him instead.

“Very well.”

The knife cut down, severing the strip of fabric she’d bound around her chest. Pythia cried out, panic blooming within her as her breasts sprang free, the cold air made her nipples prickle. Instantly, a skeleton behind her reached around her body, its hands closed around her chest.

She tried to pull away but the chains held her fast. The skeleton was well instructed, its fingers moved ceaselessly, shifting focus from her nipple to her areola to her breast itself and back again. It was sensual, a gradual building of pleasure that made her back arch. Her nipples grew harder, becoming more sensitive. The constant stimulation only became more intense, sparks of ecstasy chased themselves across her body. The creature plucked at her nipples, its bony fingers both dexterous and deft. Each touch and stroke fed a fire within her that made her body ache with want.

Another skeleton knelt before her, one hand moved to the cotton undergarments that were all that still protected her final shred of modesty. Her womanhood was pulsing, it felt hot and tight. Bombarded by the **** on her senses. Pythia’s throat felt dry, and the presence of the demilich was pushing down against her. Dark and imperious. Enjoying her feeble attempts not to moan.

“Give me your name,” he said again. “I would know who you used to be before you became my pet.”

“I will never give you my name,” she growled. “I will never be your pet.”

The knife slashed down again, and Pythia squeezed her eyes closed as her final shred of clothing fell to the ground. Her pussy pulsed with feeling; a sort of current seemed to be flowing over her vulva. The cold air beat against her sensitive skin. her clitoris was throbbing, and her lower lips were partially splayed. A thin drop of liquid hung at the juncture of her entrance.

“Part of you seems eager enough,” the lich said. “Are you truly that aroused by what has happened? Perhaps your coming to me was more than just luck.”

“I’ll destroy you, monster,” Pythia snapped.. “I’ll make you pay for this.”

“Your body tells a different story,” Admetus commented. “It tells me of love for the chain and for the collar. You want nothing more than to be my ****. All you must do is renounce your name. Give it to me and tell me that you are my **** and I will make you feel as you have never felt before.”

She laughed. Her nipples felt so hard now, every time the skeleton touched them, it earthed a bolt of lightning in her body! Bolts of sensation and lust were pouring themselves through her body. How long had it been since she had touched herself like this? How much longer since anyone else had?

“You can’t show me anything at all,” she croaked in defiance. “You lost the ability to do that centuries ago…what’s the matter? Are you regretting your choice to be a lich? Didn’t think you’d…you’d miss the flesh this much did you?”

Skeletal hands reached for her womanhood, fingers trailing across the raised mound of her vulva. Pythia bit her lower lip, refusing to make any sound of pleasure. Her body burned with taut anticipation. They caressed her, tracing a path across her burning skin that filled her with an aching want that demanded surrender.

Her head was buzzing now. Pleasure spiked through her body, the hands at her chest kneaded her hardened nipples. The ones between her legs were slower and more deliberate. Building the promised ecstasy up into a high that resonated through her body.

“Do you want to cum?” The demilich demanded of her. “Do you want to climax my pet, my ****? All you must do is bow to me. All you must do is give in and I will show you pleasure that you have never known before.”

Pythia moaned, a deep gasp tearing from her throat. Her back arched and the chains clanked. Her body felt hot and tight; her skin crawled with the attention of the demilich. Heat flashed between her legs, the promise of an orgasm building within her womanhood. She couldn’t believe that this was happening, that she was actually feeling this. It was a betrayal by her own flesh as if her very own nerves had turned upon her.

A flash of pleasure flared between her legs and. her knee collapsed under her. Pythia went crashing to the ground.

“Surrender to me,” Admetus repeated, his voice was louder now. His empty eye sockets seemed to burrow into her mind. “Become mine in body and soul.”

“Pharasma take you,” Pythia groaned.

“She has already tried, girl. She has already tried.”

Pythia tried to answer but a spear of pleasure stabbed through her body; a crackling current jolted through her and the last of her strength was snatched away. She was on her knees now; the sensation pounded through her, and she knew that she was going to cum. Pythia clenched her body, holding her muscles tight in denial. The feeling slammed against her barriers; battering into her stubbornness like a river into a great wooden dam. Her hands clenched into fists, the chains rattled, the skeletons teased her, inspiring blooming flowers of lust and shame across her body.

Pythia pressed her eyes closed, seeking whatever strength yet remained in her. Her body squirmed, beads of sweat forming across her arms and legs. Her nipples felt so sensitive now that the slightest touch sent waves of ecstasy shuddering through her chest. She was breathing faster, gathering her willpower, fighting her very body.

But she could not fight forever. No matter how she tried, no matter how strong her will was, Pythia was still mortal. Her body responded to stimulation and gradually she was ****-walked towards the very edge of her endurance. Her skin prickled, and her hair began to stand on end. A low, keening moan escaped from between her lisp.

“Beg me for mercy,” Admetus said. “Beg me and perhaps I’ll let you keep your dignity.”

She **** herself to look upwards. She was kneeling. Her legs were splayed, and her pussy was soaking. The skeletons moved faster and faster, tireless and inevitable, their touch sparked a forbidden ecstasy that streaked through her body like lightning.

The encroaching fog of pleasure snatched and played with her thoughts, but she knew two things with absolute certainty: firstly, that Admetus would not spare her dignity no matter what he said.

Secondly, she would never yield to him. He must have seen the defiance in her eyes because he seemed to sigh.

“Very well. Learn the hard way.”

The skeletons pinched her nipples, the one between her leg legs flicked out a finger, catching her burning clitoris. Her body shook, and she pulled her chains taut as shameful ecstasy bloomed across her form. Humiliation blazed on her face. She was going to cum! She was going to cum and nothing could stop it now.

She climaxed. A burning flood of lust and pleasure roared through her mind and poured through her body. It was as if it had consumed every cell, every fibre, every inch of her being. Pythia came like she never had before, and was left gasping, held aloft only by the chains which bound her hands above her head. Her chest rose and fell as she desperately tried to catch her breath.

At last, the skeletons retreated. She was left alone with her own body, the burning aftermath of her orgasm scorched her mind.

“Surrender your name,” Admetus repeated. “Give up whoever you were before. Your worshipped Pharasma? She can’t help you now, girl!” You belong to me. Accept it or do not. In the end, your opinion does not matter. You will serve.”

Pythia was gasping; her breath was ragged; tremors ran through her body but still, she managed to raise her head. To summon her defiance.

“How pathetic…a lich who regrets what he has become…not because of the evil that you have done, not because of the pain that you have caused or the horror of your existence. But because you can no longer feel a woman. How utterly sad and yet perfectly fitting. Unconquered? You conquered yourself long ago.”

Admetus’ eyes flared, burning bright bluer with rage.

“You have no understanding!” The demilich snarled. “You think such basic thoughts, as befits a fly bound in the web of mortality. My true goals are far beyond you.”

A moment passed and he seemed to reel himself in, the fire in his eyes dimmed.

“But you are right.”

She was surprised to hear that. It was the last thing she’d expected him to admit. There was a low chuckling sound.

“Shocked? I am brilliant, it is true but I am not infallible. I became a lich to escape the call of **** and that involved certain sacrifices. My body was one of them. I became bone and will, a being beyond end. But I lost the pleasures of the flesh. At the time, it was a worthy trade. It still is. But now that I have become immune to the grave, why should I not recover that which was lost?”

“You will never be immune to the grave,” Pythia said. “That you think you are only shows how deluded you have become.”

“You still have no understanding,” Admeuts said. “I will become a truly immortal being. I will rebuild a body - a true body - and I will become perfect in form as well as in mind. These things are inevitable for they are of my will. And you, Pythia, you will serve as my concubine and ****. My very first act upon rebirth will be to enjoy your body.”

“How did you know my name?” She growled. “I didn't give it to you.”

“I was a high-level wizard long before I was a lich,” Admetus said. “I have my ways. Now begone! If you will not surrender yourself to me now, perhaps some time in my special cells will change your mind.”

Again, Pythia felt the gathering tension in the room, the sense of magic being unleashed.

Then the Teleport spell snatched her away.

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Pythia staggered, her hand going to the wall to steady herself as her head spun for the second time. Teleportation always made her feel vaguely sick and that was when she had time to prepare for it.

Quickly, Pythia snatched a look around. She was in a cell much like the one she had woken up in before. Not the exact same one, however, for this cell had a source of light. A dim sparkle was emitted from the walls. For a human, it would have been almost useless. As an elf, Pythia could see everything.

The cell was larger than the last and carved of solid stone. There were no entrances or exits, but now she knew she would be teleported out when required. She was guessing that Admetus would watch her via scrying or perhaps he even already was.

She took a step forward and realised for the first time that the floor of the cell was covered by a thick liquid. It was about two feet deep, and her legs sank into it as she moved. It was similar to water, but thicker and somewhat more solid yet too clear to be mud.

Pythia decided she was not going to be sitting down in this cell. But at least she now had time to plot and plan. Admetus’ words rang in her head, his decision to hold her as his **** and concubine filled her with revulsion. There was no way she was going to sit around here for long enough to let that happen, but how did she plan to leave? Herwig was still out there somewhere, but Pythia knew she couldn’t just wait for her familiar to find its way back to her. She had to escape on her own.

Yet without magic, there was no way to leave the cells. She’d have to escape at some point while Admetus was trying to break her.

Escape under the gaze of a demilich? Without any of her own magic? The very idea sounded insane! But, and here she bit her lower lip, did she have any choice but to try?

Before she could go any further, Pythia realised the skin of her legs was beginning to tingle. She looked down, but there was no rash. It didn’t even feel bad, it was actually rather pleasant.

Was this some kind of potion or…?

The liquid moved. Drawing itself slowly into the corner and rising up to take a vaguely organic shape. Thrashing tendrils of semi-solid matter closed around her extended arm and yanked her towards it. Pythia tried to fight but she was already exhausted. More tendrils looped around her arms and legs and her final thought before her body gave in and she was dragged towards the thing was that it was not a potion at all.

It was a slime.

It pulled her into its body, submerging her in the semi-clear liquid. It felt cold against her skin and she struggled, desperately gasping for air. Most slimes were carnivorous, but this one was not. It lacked the acidic touch of its cousins. Instead, where it touched her it engaged her senses. It made her skin tingle and filled her with heat. It also knew not to go too far and after only a few moments, it released her. She collapsed to the ground, gasping and ****. Her body was on fire; even the smallest touch of air or stone against her bare skin made her moan.

The thing was approaching her again. More tendrils licked out, edging towards her body. Pythia made room, backing away as far as she could. But the cell was so small and there was nowhere to go. The slime caught her again and **** her legs apart. She cursed, fighting it, kicking at it. But pseudopods closed around her arms and they were bound behind her back. Two more extended, beginning to suck at her nipples. Her back arched as the feeling pounded through her. But as the slime drew her closer to its body, the main course soon began.

More tendrils were extended, crawling across the floor towards the elf’s twitching body. Pythia gave a wordless cry as one of them began to push against the entrance to her pussy. Her folds were wet and wanting; the slime’s aphrodisiac properties soon began to apply directly to her womanhood. It entered her, thrusting forward with a confident thrust that made her head spin and mouth open in a silent gasp. Meanwhile, a second tendril was crawling up her leg. She wriggled, blanching as she felt it begin to press itself into her ass.

Pythia desperately shook her head but neither Admetus nor the slime had much care for what she wanted. It seemed that while she was in this cell, the slime was going to have its way with her.

For the next several hours, this was her whole world. There was no time for thoughts, no chance to plan defiance. Part of her - the small part able to think - realised that this was the intention. Admetus wanted to break her down, to make her into his pet and his whore. For that reason he would give her no rest, no breaks to regain her strength. It would be a single constant barrage of one thing after the other until she finally broke.

The rest of her was consumed with pleasure. She twitched and shivered; the slime’s body entering her own, pumping her faster and faster. Her hips swayed, and pleasure bloomed between her legs. She desperately tried to resist but there was no use. The slime was just as inexhaustible as the skeletons had been. She came and then came again, and then a third time after that. Each peak was more intense, more ground-breaking than the last.

In that cell, Pythia experienced utter and complete helplessness. Pleasure and humiliation washed over her. The realisation took her that the slime was mindless, a simple tool which existed only to make her cum. She hated it and she hated that she was getting off on it. It filled her with shame, but her body did not care about that. It was in heaven. The slime fucked her but never in the same way twice in a row. It swapped its focus between her pussy and her ass, taking her with long, deep thrusts that made her chest bounce or shallow, rapid thrusts that vibrated through her body. Sometimes it played with her mouth, or changed her position, forcing her legs further apart or making her kneel on top of it. By the time several hours had passed, she was far too weak to fight anymore and simply let it do what it would.

________________________________________________________________

When the teleport spell finally triggered again, Pythia was transported to another chamber lit by blazing torches. It was smaller than the first, and there were no skeletons. She saw little else because her legs immediately folded under her and she crashed to the ground. Her chest heaved; her body was coated in sweat. Tiny flashes of orgasmic pleasure wormed their way through her mind like the sparks of a dying fire.

She’d been **** to endure climax after climax, her own body twisted and turned against her. Even when she felt sure she was at her limit something about the slime had been able to keep her going. It was composed of a healing poultice, but there was no mercy in such creation. Merely a way to prolong its use. Bound in its clutches, Pythia had squirmed and gasped and climaxed until her heart was hammering and her brain was sinking into a deep fog of pleasure.

Now she lay shivering on the floor. All dignity lost, her strength forgotten. Naked and humiliated, her pussy soaking and throbbing.

Admetus floated above her, his voice was high and cold.

“So you see the price for denying me, my pet? If you had only given me your name you would not have suffered such punishment. Instead, I had to find it myself and you were made to pay the price. But there is a purpose to this lesson. I hope you have now learned how utterly and completely at my mercy you truly are.”

Pythia’s breathing was ragged. Her limbs were trembling. Slowly, she pushed herself up, so that her face was locked with the hollow eyes of the gem-encrusted skull.

“I will never,” she growled, “belong to the likes of you. You cannot possess me like one of your undead minions. I am not that easily broken.”

For a moment, there was a sonorous silence. Admtus’ eyes flared like dying stars. Pythia found the strength to push herself to her feet.

“I see,” Admetus said at last. “It seems you still have the will to resist. How utterly pathetic. I will enjoy breaking you, Pythia. I will enjoy making you squirm and moan. I will enjoy the sight of your face, humiliated and debased. Begging me for pleasure and release.”

“You will be waiting a very long time for that,” Pythia spoke. “You’re the pathetic one, Admetus. The shade of a man lusting after that which he long ago gave up. Even for a lich, that’s low. The least you can do is accept your bargain! But you must have everything, mustn’t you? And because you do, you’ll eventually have nothing.”

“Lies!”

Pythia staggered. It felt like a wave of **** had smacked her in the gut. It was more in surprise than pain.

“I will have everything. I deserve to have everything!”

Another blast of **** struck and she took a step back. Her aching body was already trembling.

“I am Admetus. I am the Unconquered! You stand there and defy me? You are a ****, and soon you will be my whore. Pythia the Duskwalker, you are nothing before me. Now kneel.”

The last word was full of power and strength. It crashed down against her like a solid blow. If she’d been rested, recovered and strong, she could have fought it off. But after hours of **** pleasure, she was beyond tired. Pythia’s legs collapsed under her, splaying as she hit the floor. Her pussy throbbed, and a trace of liquid ran across her lower lips.

“A sight more worthy of you,” the lich said. “I want to see you with your legs spread, your face locked in a rictus of pleasure and lust. You will forget who you were before. You will forget the goddess you served. All that is not mine will be torn away from you and you will be made into my eternal, loyal servant.”

“You will fail,” Pythia breathed. “I will not break. I am stronger than you.”

“You think so?” Admetus lashed out with another wave of ****. Pythia felt her body hoisted up into the air, her legs dangling above the ground. She fought, finding new strength within her but the grip of the lich was beyond compare.

“If you will not give yourself to me willingly, I will take what is mine by right.”

“You have no right to me,” Pythia snarled.

“I am Admetus! I have every right.”

Her arms were jerked backwards, folding behind her back as if she were wearing cuffs. The motion thrust her chest forward, her nipples were hard, the cold air played hell on her senses. Something glinted in her vision as a golden needle sailed through the air.

“Admetus…” Pythia growled.

“What’s the matter? Ready to beg for mercy? Ready to admit you belong to me?”

She grit her teeth, refusing to answer. The needle came closer, she could see that it was wickedly sharp. Her skin prickled and the air caught in her throat. The aftereffects of the slime continued to assail her. She was so aroused, her pussy was wet, drips falling to the floor beneath her. Pythia struggled, but the unseen grip which held her arms behind was relentless. An internal sense of panic threatened to overwhelm her but she refused to give in to it. Pythia dug down seeking her own inner strength. She refused to let the lich see her fear, giving him as powerful a glare as she could muster.

“Do what you want,” she said. “It will mean nothing in the end.”

“Do what I want?”

There was an evil sound in his voice then. Something else emerged from the shadows. It was a shaft, about as long as her arm, the tip was bulbous, and there was a gem set in the centre. Pythia recognised a magical staff. She’d seen hundreds and used dozens in her time as an adventurer. It was carved from a pale white bone, polished to an ivory finish.

“A favourite tool of mine,” Admetus told her. “A Staff of Electric Arc.”

A shiver crawled down her spine as it came closer. She tried to edge herself away from the weapon but the invisible **** kept her where she was. The Electric Arc cantrip was low-level and not threatening on its own

But applied to a naked body, it could still hurt!

As if to make his point even more bluntly, Pythia felt the **** close around her legs. Her muscles strained and burned but inevitably, her thighs were **** apart. Her pussy was now fully open, displayed like a trophy. A flush of coloured flowed across her face, humiliation rose inside of her but she had little time to experience it.

Admetus put the staff right between her legs. The bulbous head was pressed against her vulva, the polished bone was smooth and almost pleasant. Or would have been if she didn’t know what it could do. A cold sweat ran down the back of her neck.

“Are you sure you don’t want to surrender?” The lich asked. “It will make things so much easier. So much more…pleasant.”

She bit back a wordless reply. Admetus triggered the spell. Pythia braced for agony but felt only a current of crackling pleasure. Sparks of lightning licked across her womanhood, engaging her nerves and filling her with pleasure. A wave of ecstasy thrummed through her and her eyes went wide. A moan escaped her lips in spite of her best efforts to be silent.

Admetus was laughing.

“The staff is special,” he said. “I made it myself. The power of the spell can be increased or decreased. At its current setting, it is merely pleasurable. I thought it might make what comes next more bearable for you. I have no wish to cause you pain.”

Liar, she thought, meeting his unblinking gaze. He wanted her to get off to the feeling of being enslaved. The staff was triggered again, it spat and hissed, and tongues of fat electricity began to crawl across her womanhood. The feeling was intense, unbelievable. The lightning was hot, licking across her soft skin like a nest of crackling tongues. it left a throbbing pleasure that seemed to flow deeply into her body. There were so many tendrils, all caressing and engulfing her womanhood. When one of them reached her clitoris, Pythia’s whole body shook violently. She was so wet now, she was humiliated, ashamed and utterly helpless.

Yet still, defiance burned within her. She refused to submit. Refused to slink away. Even as the golden needle came closer and closer. Even as it pressed itself right into the dark purple flesh of her nipple. The feeling sent chills crawling through her spine, but the pleasure which rose from her womanhood served to confuse the feeling. Already, a climax was rising within her. The staff nestled right against womanhood, her wetness staining the tip. It was fucking her! Rising and falling slowly but surely, penetrating her body and mind with its magical pleasure.

Her chest convulsed as the orgasm hit; but as soon as the wave of pleasure rose, the needle bit her! Pythia cried out, the feeling was sharp and strong, the needle buried itself in her nipple and emerged from the other side. Behind her back, her fists clenched. Pain and pleasure mixed.

The staff was **** upwards, the very tip spread her labia, pressing right into her sex with no protection at all. Admetus triggered it again and the feeling speared her, rising through her pussy in a thunderous surge of stimulation. It felt so good her eyes pressed tightly closed. She shook, breathing faster and faster as her pulse raced and the second orgasm began to build. Never in her life had Pythia known such pleasure mixed with such humiliation. Her pierced breast stung, and her unmarred one felt the gentle press of the needle.

“What are you waiting for, monster?” She spat at Admetus. “Do it!”

He did. Her second breast screamed in pain as the needle struck home. The Staff of Electric Arc filled her body, forcing her into another climax that screamed through her mind. Her back arched, and her legs kicked out. Her eyes closed and for a moment, Pytha lost herself to sensation. She was cumming. Cumming to the pain, the humiliation and the pleasure of her new status as a ****.

Something cold and hard closed around her throat with a click. It was a collar.

“Now you are truly mine,” Admetus said. “You will belong to me forever.”

He made her ride the staff for a bit longer. Her body bucked wildly, each climax harder and more intense than the last. When her logical thoughts began to dissolve into wild emotion, and when she felt like she couldn’t cum anymore, that was when he finally let her down.

Pythia sprawled across the dungeon floor. Her chest stung; the pain of her new piercings consumed her world. Her limbs were weak, she was covered in sweat. Absolutely defeated as far as Admetus was concerned.

But she ended that thought with a single action. She looked up at him, glaring with all of the strength she had left.

“I am not yours,” she gasped, her voice was weak but there was an inner strength to it. “I will never be yours.”

His eyes flashed in rage.

“We will see.”

That was how their contest began. The Duskwalker elf and the awakened demilich. The beginning.

But far from the end.