The Adjunt and the Peerage. (4)

With the first of his horde moving to build out the tower into more of an encampment befitting what was to come, it was time to lay the groundwork for the town. The day was clouded over and threatening rain. Still Mark kept his hood lowered and walked forward with a determined gait. Clearly knowledge that he was in the area was passed to the guards as even though they were not the same from the morning before they bowed meekly when Markash approached and didn’t stop him. Simply muttering an acknowledgment of “Magister.” As he passed. The guard captain however ran out to chase him.

“Sir! Sir!” The guard captain was in a dirty and well worn imperial uniform, the rosette of a corporal on his shoulder. “I apologize for the inconvenience, the adjunct of the Peerage asked that I pass along that she is eager to have you as a guest.” Mark’s sigh passing along his displeasure, the guard quickly adds “I wouldn’t have bothered you but she was rather adamant as well. I apologize sir.” Waving the man’s apology away Mark presses forward.

“I’ll attend her today. Your duty is done.” The guard captain withers under the glare of the magister. Magic is foreign enough to be disdained but noteworthy enough that mouthing off to even a minor acolyte of the peerage is never worth the costs. Not that Markash has any marks of office on his person. Were it not from the warnings from the other guards it would be impossible to tell he were anything other than another traveler through the valley.

The waterlogged town is more sedate this morning with many people staying in their homes and waiting out the constant rain, but there is still some traffic and it adds a peaceful feeling to the morning. Mark groaned internally as his quiet morning stroll was coming to an end. The Peerage Guild house was was the most formidable and luxurious building in the modest town of Merritt’s Bend. More so than the mayoral manor on the same hillside overlooking the town. Markash stood at a an iron gate blocking entry to the house, hesitating. We can’t just go in without a plan. There will be issues Aesmaram whispered in his head. Clearly he was right. The last records the Peerage had for a Markash Roanan was close on 250 years prior with him ranks above where his power was currently. Even if they had records and if he had some story to explain his absence, the scrying tools each guild housed would give away his partner near instantly.

Rushing in with a mind to overcome her with brute magical **** was off the table. Not only were both Mark and Aesmaram still weak enough that the fight would be close magical combat like that would destroy the guild-house and bring the entire town down on them quickly. No, this had to be quiet. It had to be clever. “We need to find a way to get her to come to us, without her knowing who I am yet.” Mark thought aloud. Aesmaram smirks in his mind

Thoughts came unbidden to Mark from his other half. While the demon was still weak, he was a creature of passions and mental struggle. Breaking through her enough to create a false memory of them was possible. You have to break her first. Get her into a mental state she cannot resist. Let me control us. Mark relaxed the grip on his soul where the demon rested. He stumbled, barely catching himself as knowledge flooded into his mind.

Various spells and incantations rushed through him, the fundamentals of mentalist spell-craft and conjuration, the demon’s forte’, along with a host of spells from those schools. Rush of knowledge accompanied a splitting ache throughout every fiber his body. He grit his teeth to keep from screaming out even as he stumbled to lean against the iron fencing. The host of mental abilities included attack spells focused on breaking willpower, memory scrying, memory editing, emotional urging, thought reading, the list was extensive.

The conjuration and summoning spells were no less exhaustive. While Mark knew the fundamentals of summoning his specialization was in void, entropic, and chaos magic. Summoning used this destructive **** but like a scalpel rather than a hammer. Summoning was about slicing the tiniest of holes between planes and inviting the summon in. The demon’s predication on lust meant that eventually the summons could be his personal minions from the desolate lands like fellow succubus and incubus. At their current level the summons were minor Imps and monsters of the desolate lands without names known by humankind.

Mark struggled against the onslaught, trying to wrest control of his mind and lock the demon down; but it was not enough. He collapsed.

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His sleep was dreamless. Aesmaram claimed to have intended for him to collapse outside of the guild house. In the dreamless ether the demon talked. “She watched you collapse. The Adjunct will have brought you into the guild house. There we’ll make our move. Every lustful action you take empowers me, and therefore you. You know as well as I do that we are in this together - you’d have not summoned me if you didn’t know what I was going to require of you. You took the church girl, the goblins, but they are simply the start."

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Mark shifted and felt a comfortable bed below him and with a **** of will his eyes **** themselves open with as groan.

“Oh! Mark.” Chelsea’s voice rang out followed by the scurry of her running to his side. He slowly tried to sit as she rested a hand on his back helping him upright. “Here, drink slowly.” She lifted a cup to his mouth and cool water flowed in. “The adjunct sent a runner to the church when she saw you collapse I came as quickly as I could! I was so worried.” She pulled mark into a hug and leaned into his ear lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Everything is ready.” While what she meant was lost on Mark he felt the demon smiling within. She glanced around the room subtly gestured at a number of crystals didn’t seem at all out of place in a guild house like this. Getting up she moved a chair to the bedside.

“What did you do…” Mark questioned the demon within.

“I asked you trust me, while you were taking a nap I had a chat with our minion. She had some channeling crystals brought from the tower that should allow us enough power to break the magistrix. I gave you a spell called binding silks. Do you see it?”

Searching his memory, sure enough in rank one summoning there was the image of violet portals with scarlet silk bands emerging and binding the spell’s target. At least the beginning of the plan was beginning to take shape.

“The adjunct requested I get her when you came to. I’ll be right back.” Mark didn’t miss the smirk and wink, nor the intentional sway of her hips as she left the room. Chel was always a firebrand - strong willed and prideful. Since the summoning and his return to life her teasing an personality had taken on a more and more sexual undertone. While Mark couldn't complain, there was a concern and curiosity about how much of that was her. _ It’s always been there, you were just ugly then, and there was no excuse for her to let loose. All I do is give people the excuse they need. _Arguing the point with a demon wasn’t going to get him a clear answer, or for the latter to back off. So long as she served well and her personality was still at large unchanged, then it wasn’t worth the fight.

Mark’s moment of reflection was broken with the door opening. The adjunct Maya entered first. She appeared in her mid 20s, as the mana flowing through her body slowed the aging process. Her aura tasted like a mix of campfire and autumn, an elementalist at her roots. She was pretty as far as mortals went but nothing world shattering. Wavy black hair pulled back into a rough tail She had a stern look on her face that softened into concern as she took in his state. She was dressed in the formal attire of the guild. The blue and gold trim of the robe was tailored to perfection, the deep cut neckline revealing the top of her firm, pert breasts. Her eyes were a piercing blue that searched over him clinically as she marched through the door. Chelsea cautiously followed closing and locking the door behind her as she entered.

“Good you’re awake! Let’s take a look.” She marched over to the bed where Mark lie and almost as if it were scripted she stood in front of the chair. She bent over and studied Mark. Her eyes going wide in recognition right before Markash unleashed a mental stun that sent her staggering back into the chair. She gasped out a spell before it was cut off by the demon’s power. She looked at Mark, eyes glazed over, confusion in her eyes.

Before she could recover he moved; popping into a sitting position and moving his hands through a series of newly learned incantations. The series of runes called forth burned with an unnaturally bright violet before drifting to the floor on either side of the chair. Where the runes land violet irises opened and scarlet silks almost alive with a dark allure, shoot forth from the irises, wrapping around her wrists and ankles, securing her to the chair with a soft but firm grip. Her eyes widen further as the silks squeeze tighter crawling up her body and wrap over her lips. She struggles, but the binds are too strong, leaving her bound helpless to the chair.

Chelsea watches from the side, a knowing smirk playing on her lips, enjoying the sight of the powerful woman being brought under control. She stalks over, resting her hand on Mark’s chest for a moment before taking a seat on the bed. “Well what do we do now?” she purrs. The woman struggling on the chair looks at Mark with pleading eyes. The insight from the demon mapped out the lust based attacks. Overpower the senses to break the will. Once the prey is broken down they can be sculpted into whatever you want.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I rather think you’ll enjoy this.” Reaching into his reserves Mark was please to see that the binding silks spell sat fully open and under control in his soul space. In every mages soul there is a bridge between the soul of each mage Each spell sat like a weight bearing down on the supports of that bridge. Weight of each spell was a combination of factors, amount of mana pulled into the spell, the affinity of the spell some spells were just naturally heavier. The gateway and bridge were all a common ground across every mage, but that does not mean they are the same. Natural strength and the time spent on the building a mage’s foundation, the more metaphysical weight it could support.

The adjunct's eyes widen further as she feels the scarlet silks tighten around her body, her struggles becoming more frantic yet futile. The silks respond to her movements, wrapping tighter and tighter, as if enjoying the dance of their prey. Her eyes dart between Markash and the silks, understanding the gravity of the situation, yet unable to comprehend the source of this sudden ****.

Desire coursed through Mark flushing his skin an unnatural middle between the demon’s scarlet red and his own as their inner worlds continued to merge. Chelsea clapped a hand over her mouth as a wave of pure lust radiated from the magister. The adjunct's eyes go wide with a mix of terror and arousal as the scarlet silks respond to Markash's will, latching onto her body with a seductive **** that spreads her legs, pulling her ankles to her wrists at the chair's armrests. The tension in the room thickens, the very air seems to pulse with the demonic power that has been unleashed. Her breathing becomes shallow, her chest heaving against the tight embrace of the silks, her white panties and linen skirt the only barrier left to her modesty. Chelsea's hand slowly falls from her mouth, her eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation, watching the scene unfold as if it were a play long awaited.

The magisrix bound before them would be a challenge if she had been given a fair chance to fight. With her hands bound and mouth wrapped there were no chances at any incantations. the binding silks even at their low rank would still power themselves by sapping the adjunct’s mana. So restrained and without mana the magistrix she was, at the moment, harmless.

Chelsea’s hand lands on Mark’s shoulder as she gently pushes him aside before sinking to her knees in front of the chair. Tenderly, she starts placing kisses along the bound woman’s inner thighs. Bunching the woman's skirt to the side she reveals the adjunct's modest panties. Pulling a small knife off of a small table she runs it gently along the woman’s thigh where she was kissing just a moment before. The magistrix’s struggling stopped immediately as the cold metal of the blade touched her. The knife flashed for just a moment as Chelsea cuts away the underwear protecting the woman’s modesty.

The adjunct's eyes go wide as Chelsea's soft, tender kisses along her inner thighs are replaced by the cold, hard touch of a knife. Her body goes rigid with fear, the metal blade a stark contrast to the warm, velvet embrace of the silks. She watches in horror as her panties are sliced away, exposing her sex to the cool air of the room. Chelsea's actions are deliberate, almost a dance of seduction and power, as she reveals the adjunct's vulnerability.

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Maya knew she was in trouble. From the moment she walked into the room where the supposed rank one magister had been resting she knew the danger was far more than it had first appeared. It was in the eyes. When he looked up at her from the bed there was something predatory and inhuman about them.

She tried to raise a shield but he was inhumanly quick. Something dark hid inside of him, using him to lash out. Her mind blanked and she stood frozen collapsing into this chair. The binding were a form of summon, but wherever they touched the felt overwhelmingly good. On her arms and legs it felt like a loving caress. The binding over her lips felt like the sweetest kisses. It inflamed her core.

Maya’s shame burned at her cheeks as the girl knelt in front of her cuting away her panties. She prayed that the girl didn’t notice the growing wet spot that started from the moment she was bound and exposed with her legs pulled to her side. The girl, no, woman standing over her turned and pushed the magister backwards and he fell onto the bed without protest. Then she turned back to Maya sinking to her knees. The smirk that spread across the woman’s face let her know that the game was up, her lust couldn't be hidden as lustful thoughts ran rampant in Maya’s mind. Chelsea, that was the girl’s name, she had always seemed so innocent, so demure, hiding cloistered away by her father in the church. It was always the innocent ones, she mused.

Thoughts are interrupted by the lightning ignited in her by the woman’s kisses beginning on Maya’s inner thighs and creeping ever closer to her delicate folds. Maya couldn’t hold back the guttural moans that escaped as Chelsea’s ministrations teased her outer folds, separating her and exposing her wholly. She desperately tried to keep in her mind that she was prisoner, that she did not want this, that she should be bucking her hips and trying to push away her attacker. Still the silks massaged her, forcing her unwilling body to relax and unwillingly she couldn’t help but welcome the intrusions of the young woman’s tongue onto and into her most private places.

The Adjunct's world narrows to the sensations of Chelsea's mouth on her, the gentle yet insistent kisses along her thighs that inch closer to the apex of her desire. The room seems to spin around her as Chelsea's tongue finally reaches the soft, sensitive folds of her sex. She bites her lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape, her mind reeling from the treacherous betrayal of her body's response to this unwelcome but undeniably exquisite torment. Despite her fierce resolve to resist, she feels herself growing wetter, her body's natural reactions to the intimate **** making her feel even more **** and exposed.

When Chelsea reaches her clit and gives a teasing nibble all Maya can do is scream into the silks over her mouth as the first orgasm tears through her. Each spasm sending tendrils of absolute pleasure throughout her body. Her mind blanked lost in the passion, but only for a moment. She tried to twist her hips to escape, but the preacher’s daughter continued to lap at the lake of her wetness. Maya's muffled scream echoes in the chamber as the silk gag muffles her cry of ecstasy. Her body, still bound in the chair, writhes in an attempt to escape Chelsea's relentless ministrations. Despite her initial shock and the stark reality of her situation, the intensity of the pleasure is undeniable. Chelsea's tongue expertly circles her clit, flicking and nibbling with a precision that seems to have been honed from a lifetime of secret desires. The orgasm leaves Maya's muscles quivering, her breaths shallow and ragged. Yet, the torment isn't over. Chelsea, seemingly unfazed by Maya's futile attempts to resist, continues her oral ****, her eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and malicious intent.

Again and again Maya was brought to orgasm, and each time like a battering ram at the gates of her mind the walls gave little by little. Maya groaned as she came down from another orgasm, her lucidity fading quickly.

The man radiating this intense animalistic aura that intensified the ministrations of Chelsea got off of the bed and pulled his shirt off. He was thin, taught wiry muscle. Her eyes followed down his body and Maya couldn’t help but gasp as his trousers followed allowing his manhood, proud and imposing, to drop on to Chelsea’s back. The girl pulled away from lapping at her wetness and turned her head to face the man. She looks up at Markash with a hungry gaze, her lips curling into a seductive smile.

“Yes master, please, I need you.” The need dripping off of every word. As Chelsea whispers her subservient plea, her eyes lock onto Maya's, ensnaring the adjunct in a gaze that speaks of dark desires and the thrill of the forbidden. Markash, fueled by the power of his dark magic, steps forward with predatory grace, aligning his substantial erection with Chelsea's wet, eager entrance. With a single, powerful thrust, he sinks into her, making her cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain. The vibrations from Chelsea's muffled shrieks resonate through Maya's body, the intimate connection between them amplifying the sensations of her own **** climaxes. The spasms that wrack her body leaving her utterly exhausted and helpless as all she can do is cum again and again.

Why she is here, what was she doing? It’s all lost in the haze of over-stimulation punctuated by mind collapsing orgasm after orgasm. As Markash's dark magic coils around Maya, she feels an overwhelming sense of her own will slipping away. Her eyes glaze over as the vibrations from Chelsea's muffled screams and the relentless pleasure of her own **** orgasms resonate through her body. The world around her seems to fade into the background, replaced by a kaleidoscope of sensation that threatens to consume her very essence. She screams once more before the darkness of total exhaustion finally overwhelms her.

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The exultation of victory and dominance war with the pleasure of Chelsea’s young pussy wrapped around Markash’s manhood. She feels amazing. Lightning tingles of pleasure surge through Markash’s cock as Chelsea’s tight cunt grabs and squeezes again. It threatens to send Mark over the edge, an influx of lust tinged mana from the demon all that allows him to hold on. Each hammering thrust sends Chelsea’s tongue deeper into the little Magistrix under her. The primal fucking picking up in pace as Mark hammers deep into her folds. Chelsea’s orgasm hits quickly, her canal tightening fiercely.

“Agh…. FUCK!” Mark pulled from Chelsea’s pussy as the first ropes of his seed shot forth. His aim was perfect landing across the Magistrix Maya’s face, a good dose landing in her mouth and down onto her chest. His orgasm triggered another wave of lustful magic dosing everyone in the room. Chelsea turned around around taking the rest across her face and burying her fingers in her wetness pushing for her own climax, before taking Mark’s cock in her mouth and nursing him clean.

Chelsea popped off of Markash’s diminishing erection as she shuddered through a small orgasm of her own. “Master. That was incredible.” She gasped. The magistrix in the chair was completely incapacitated. Her head rolling to the side. Markash allowed the silken binding summoning to expire and gently the two of them lifted the incoherent magistrix onto the bed. Her will is shattered, She will take time to recover but now is the time to do what you came to do…

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With the Adjunct sleeping off the effects of the memory induction and multiple orgasms the records room was left open. The smell of incense and parchment Reviewing the guest-book and ledgers showed that there was only one mage other than Maya and Mark in the town. Also in high gateway formation, Sir Bartholomew Sanders.

“Sanders?” Chelsea’s eyebrows raise. “They’re nobles in the delta. He may just be passing through on his way home.”

“No there are others who only check in for a day. He comes through almost every day. He’s staying in the town.” Another possible problem for another day. The events with Maya had left Mark in a rather good mood which he didn’t want to spoil by being anxious about a noble brat turned junior magister. When they left the guild house Mark still did not have his Peerage crest. That would be resolved when Maya found the ability to walk again and made it to her desk in the lobby downstairs.

Leaving the Peerage guild house Mark had hoped to slink away back to the ruins to recuperate. For his former level of magical progression the spells and efforts of the last hour would have been paltry and Mark would not have broken a sweat. The return to life and struggle of merging he and Aesmaram left even those minor spells needing an exhausting amount of focus. Rest however was not in the cards.

Waiting out front of the guild house were two of the town guard. The first was the same that greeted he and Chelsea the first time Mark arrived in town.

“Samuel.” Mark had picked up the boys name from Chelsea and he started being directly addressed, before composing himself.

“Mi’lord, Chelsea.” He paused a minute before addressing the girl. “I’m sorry Chel. The Mayor wants a moment to talk to the Magister.” The young man pauses before catching himself. “Uh if that is acceptable sir.” Chelsea glanced up at Markash but stepped away to leave as he inclined his head to her.

“Don’t worry about me Chelsea. I’m sure your father has been looking for you.” The young religious sister nods offering a bright smile before taking her leave. Samuel watched her go, Mark noting that the young man’s gaze held no small amount of interest. “She’s mentioned you to me before Samuel. It’s why your name has thus far been worth remembering.”

“She has?” A touch of hope entering the man’s voice.

“She has.” A wry smile crawls across Mark’s face. “Come. We’ll talk as you take me to the Mayor”