The Tale of The (Un)lucky Thief (bisexual)

I could hear Alis humming from the bathroom. My washroom had the hottest water in the tower, and Alis liked to practically boil herself whenever she got the chance. She would fill the room with steam and soak and splash around to her heart’s content. I did not understand it. When I chose to take baths they were always cold, frigid even, to quiet my pounding blood.

Now my blood rested. Alis had just commenced draining me of all the tension in my body and my cock aired out, from where I sat splayed on my arm chair. It had been built especially for me and the back was higher than most men were tall. I inhaled her scent. It was all over me, and the room still smelled intoxicatingly of her perfume and sex. My cock twitched. She liked to be held down, Alis did. She liked to feel small and helpless, like she was being attacked, like our first time. This time, however, she had taken the lead. Pushing me down with her soft hands that could not have held me down with even their utmost effort, but I let myself be pinned to the bed underneath her tiny weight anyway. Then she had administered such affection, such lavish worship unto me. Kissing my ankles, the tops of my feet, thighs that were as thick as her waist. When she got to my cock standing up like a pillar the size of her arm, her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open; though she had seen it many times before. Her soft hand gripped me and I felt her passion. Even as she directed my thickness into her wet and waiting mouth, I knew I was putty in her hands. She was serving me, and worshiping me, taking the submissive role, even as she actively made love to my cock in a way that made me helpless.

She licked and kissed my pole from helmet to root , getting me slick. Slick enough that it would hurt her as little as was possible. I had made her sturdier with magic but she was slight still and there was only so much room for a petite body to stretch. She guided my aching erection past her tight, quivering quim. Her lips gripped my shaft, stretching obscenely as she did her best to ride the beast, her beast; me. It was odd and electric to take a passive role. Her slavish devotion was in charge and not me. When I came with enough **** to bruise her cervix and fill her womb, she did not stop riding me. Did not stop undulating her hips. Did not stop letting out her little huffs and whimpers of pleasured exertion. I tried to maintain a semblance of control, but my cock was spasming beyond any will of mine and by the time I had grabbed her wide hips and **** her down, **** her to a depth and fullness that only magic would keep her from being bred or destroyed by me. Well by that point I had already lost to the ministrations of my slut, ****, and servant.

I could hear her humming increase, she sang softly to herself as she scrubbed and let the bubbles form a huge pillowy blanket around her. Sometimes she overfilled the tub with hot sudsy water and it spilled out onto the floor. She apologized of course when it happened but I knew she only did it out of a place of absentminded, blissful contentment. Still it was fun to punish her from time to time.

I wove a simple spell with an errant thought. Light bent and I could see past my washroom door as if it ceased to be, not that she would be able to see back, to notice my voyeurism. I watched her add soothing mineral salts to her bath. Her body would feel the soreness later and she meant to relax it away. She raised a plump, creamy thigh in what was practically a split. How were women so flexible? She began to scrub her leg soft with a course brush, exfoliating the skin until it was smooth to the touch. I grabbed my hardening appendage and began to stroke it firmly, from helmet to root just as she had.

I was masturbating in secret to a beautiful woman. Invading her privacy and watching her bathe. I could have unlocked the door with my mind, could have stormed in and taken her squealing. Made her eyes cross in rapture. She would welcome it. But this was a secret pleasure, and I took it with a lecherous smile as she soaped up her round breasts.

I felt the tingle of a presence on my neck before I heard the would be thief. He had made the mistake of stealing into the highest room of the tower, my room. Perhaps he thought, cleverly so, that the most precious books, baubles, foci, and automata would be stored at the pinnacle where the Lonely Moon’s meager atmosphere and gravity fell away. This was the least accessible part of the tower. So in that way he was clever, if poorly informed. This room was isolated because I lived here. No dangerous foci or suspended world ending spells. Something far worse; a sanctuary for a beast.

There was a rushing of air leaving my tower room. As he deftly pried the window from its pane, returned it, and slipped in. I in my high backed chair facing the washroom was concealed from him.

The last thief I had faced I had scored the flesh from his bones and made his skeleton serve me wine, his mind preserved as his body was blasted and burnt away. I had made him look on as his remains brought me my dinners.

This thief, however, was bolder, but he had made an incredibly dire error. Much more so than his toasted skeletal predecessor. He had intruded on my moment with Alis. He had invaded our privacy, while I relaxed in post-coital bliss, and her in my tub. It was a mistake of more than the fatal kind.

I rocketed upward. My chair flew away from me carried by telekinetic waves born of rage. I spun to face him, all towering, and muscular eight feet of me. My mane of black hair whipped around my neck and I breathed out deep murderous exhales. My massive cock, still erect from stolen images of Alis pointed at him where he stood in the corner dressed all in climbing gear. He took a single look at me. “Shit.”

I approached him. My hair rising up around my head like a great hackle, my fingernails extended into scything black claws like a those of a course-haired Vengarian hellbeast. My mind was already calculating a spell to animate his shadow, to raise it from the stone floor. As if he could tell his eyes drifted down and saw it begin to separate from the ground and crawl up his leg. It would tear him apart and I would look on with wrathful glee.

He took stock of the situation. I could see his mind whirring behind his big scared sky-blue eyes. He saw me; a naked beast summoning forces of nightmare to rip him apart. He heard Alis’s soft singing. He felt his own shadow begin to draw blood, and he heard the pounding of his terrified heart, we both heard it. He put all the pieces together faster than even I could have, and said the only thing in the entire galaxy that could spare him and keep his blood from spattering my floor; truly the only thing. “She’ll see!”

I was struck dumb and stopped mid footfall. The words echoed in my head as he repeatedly spluttered them. Alis would see my savagery. I hesitated and he ran for the window. A simple thought grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him into the center of the room to kneel before me. We both noticed abashedly that his head was level with my erect cock. I felt it deflate in response. My chair picked itself up from the floor and walked on creaky legs back to me. I sat back into its red cushions without checking if it would catch me and appraised him.

He was slightly below average size for a normal man. About average height for woman but with a slight wiry build, good for climbing, and speed, I noted. He was wearing a midnight blue climbing suit with an anti-grav device whirring on his back. His gear seemed to be all leather straps and buckles. From it dangled all the items of his trade; auto-pickers, a transparent aluminum cutter torch, an automata cracking module, a vial of what appeared to be my hair, and a variety of hexagrammatic protective talismans. On his waist was a large sack where he no doubt intended to stash my purloined property. His hands were clasped in prayer as he begged for mercy, but there was a slyness in his voice. This was a clever man who knew how to survive, knew how to trick and deceive.

“What should we do then?” I asked him. I kept the anger from my voice.

He hesitated. “A game!” He yelped finally. I shushed him with a finger.

“A game?” He was a cheeky little shit. “You want to play me for your life?”

“Ah, yes! A pact between you and me. I win and you let me leave your tower how I came and the lady never knows. I lose, we go somewhere private you can kill me undisturbed. A tie and my life belongs to you but you cannot kill me.”

“A tie? What game do you intend we play where we might tie?”

“A game of chance!” He stated confidently.

“No.”

He looked crestfallen. “A game of chance with even odds is fair…”

“No. You are the criminal whose head rests in my noose. You will not be given even odds to live.”

“I’ll cry out.” He threatened.

I grimaced. “In that case you may pick the game but it must be of skill and capable to be played right here and now in this room.”

“What if she exits early?” He asked. “I won’t have my chance at life stolen.” He piped.

The impertinence. I did not want that to happen either. I had an idea. “This pact must be binding. It will be fair and I will comply but it must be a sorcerer’s pact.”

He gulped. “Ah, and that means?”

“Shake my hand.” It was a sweaty hand that gripped my great paw. He squeezed hard but I did not. I was focused on something else as I pulled his soul from his body with practiced ease. It slipped out of him with a metaphysical schlorp and I tied a piece of it around my middle finger, though I let the greater part remain in him. A flex of my finger and I would have the whole thing. A little bit of its power and we were in our own world out of time. There would be no interruptions.

He shuddered. I smiled. “Now what game do you choose, Mr. Thief?”

He took off his cowl and oxygen mask and I saw his face. He had boyish good looks with fine rounded cheeks, freckles running across the bridge of his nose, and pretty blue eyes. His hair was a soft pink color, typical of a Dieren. He came from a paradise world and had now chosen to die on a cold dark moon at the end of the known galaxy. What an idiot. I smirked at him.

“I choose Ur-stones.” It was his turn to smirk. The game of kings? It was an ancient game and a difficult one. It was said that each game of Ur-stones was unique and that the possibility of two games being identical was more remote than the number of atoms in the galaxy. It was also my favorite game. I was a master of the stones and if you knew about my past you would know that I had played kings, luminaries, genius beggars, child prodigies, and savants. I knew the game as well as any master.

I looked into his cunning eyes and the secret smile he was attempting to hide. He had done his research, he knew. A fool through and through. A chair normally reserved for Alis danced over on spindly legs and he got up from kneeling on the floor. My Ur-stones table in the corner danced over as well. We sat in front of it and each other.

“Are you going to get dressed?” He asked me.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Well um, yes? You are naked.”

“I am not ashamed. I will remain naked. If your eyes drift and you become distracted that is your problem not mine.”

He blushed before trying to make his face firm again.

The board was still set from the teaching game I had with Alis the other day. Alis was a smart and capable woman but her skill at stones was bad to say the least. His eyes darted over the state of the board and he smiled.

We cleared it together. I picking up the obsidian stones and him the marble. Obsidian goes first, while marble starts a move behind, and must be aggressive to make up the difference. Games are played in groups of two with players switching off. We would only play the one. He did not complain, as he should have.

I played my first stone. I would play conservatively and take the board slowly but inevitably crushing his territory between rows of obsidian. He played a marble stone with a decisive clack to match mine. Five moves in and my opener was clear. The “Dieren defense” a classic devised by a master any Dieren stones player would know. An opener that was as ironclad as it was deceptive. A slow start that had to be immediately countered or else it would consume the board. An unwise player left it unchecked and found themselves losing before they knew what had gone wrong. It did however rely on the obsidian player’s foresight.

We played.

I began to see it, what he intended by picking my favorite game. He was a perfect player. Not a devious one. He played no mind games and did not look up. Sweat drenched his pink hair as he played each move perfectly. There was no holes in his game, no weaknesses, no eccentricities. I was good but I was not the best, and he played like the highest caliber of grandmaster. I was shocked. He was going to win. Marble was aggressively strangling obsidian and with every move it became clearer.

It was a blow to my pride, but at the same time, I appreciated him. The sneaky little thief was going to avoid **** having played the most perfect game of stones I had ever had the fortune to witness. We were in the endgame and the best player I had ever faced was going to win fair and square. I was not even mad.

He looked up at me and his eyes glinted with barely constrained glee. A consequence free failure, and a besting of an Ur-stones master in his own tower. His eyes were big and very blue, too big. I looked into their big surface and I saw it in his moment of triumph. A small readout playing across his pupil. It would have been too tiny to see on my beady black eyes, but my eyes were not so prone to catching the light. He was a cheater. An automata, maybe on his person, maybe on his void ship, was feeding him perfect play.

I almost killed him right there. Then what though? He had not beaten me, but his automata had. It stung. I had beaten automata before but not this one, not this automata that could play stones perfectly. He had introduced me to a new play partner and also robbed me of a clean victory.

He would pay, but not in the usual way. I short circuited his ocular readout. His cocky smile drooped. He knew that I knew. He took a deep breath and braced himself for incineration.

“It is your move thief. Or would you like to concede?” He looked surprised and then gulped. He looked from me to the board and back again. The board state was terrible for me. A halfway decent player was only a few moves from a shut out. Was he a halfway decent player? His hands were shaking as he placed his next stone.

I played viciously my fanged smile taunting him as he played in truly mediocre fashion. That said I did not win. I had been too far behind for that, but I **** a tie. A tie I was perfectly happy about. His life would be spared but his soul was mine. He looked up at me pleading for mercy.

I began to pull it out of him. I pushed back from my seat and stretched my back to its full height. His seated form was waist level with me. I tipped my head back and raised the bulk of his cleaved soul to my lips, an eternity in my stomach. He would walk away alive but the most vital part of him was mine to savor. He felt it begin to go down my gullet.

“Wait!!” He practically screeched. I looked down at him. “What now?” Was he really going to sully my victory? He leaped up and skirted the table. What was he doing now? He dived and clung to my knee weeping in loud dramatic wails. “Ugh, get off me thief, I have your soul to eat.”

“I’ll give you something more valuable than my soul!”

“You have nothing.” I lowered it to my lips.

“My diginity!!”

I looked down at him pleading for his life. I laughed loud and in his face. “You? What dignity do you have left to even offer?”

“I’ll! I’ll! I’ll um…”

And at the same moment we noticed that my huge flaccid meat was dangling inches from his face where he clung to me. He did not mean to offer…

“I’ll give you a handjob!”

Did he really just?

“Please! Yes! I’ll stroke your cock! With uh… my hands. I’ve been with men! It will be good, I swear! Pleasure to die for. Pleasure to spare a soul for.”

“No.” I said. We both looked at my groin. I was erect, achingly so and it stood out past his head. Fuck me. Was I ever the degenerate. It was the weeping that did it. The wide eyed pleading. The pathetic-ness of it all. Power turned me on and my sexuality was dominant. This would be dominant. Very dominant.

He reached for it with tentative hands and I sat back in my chair frustrated. I was going to let this little scoundrel off. I was. For sex. Hopeless.

“If you want your soul, you’ll need to earn it. Earn it and obey.”

He reached for my meat. “No. You are not in charge little thief. You do not get a say or concessions. You will do as you are commanded.”

He looked a little affronted.

“Now. My little slut. Suck.” I brandished my erection in his face. He looked overawed but also disgusted. I wove flows of mental compulsions. His mouth began to drool uncontrollably. His throat ached with a profound sensation of emptiness. His tongued danced in his mouth restlessly. He looked at me guessing what I had done, and glared. He lasted ninety-seconds before the urge to suck took over. Suck he did, or suckle. For someone “who had been with men” he was unskilled. He made up for it partly in the profound surrender I was receiving from him.

When I was properly lubed I pulled his greedy slobbering mouth off me. He tried to fight. To get my tool back in his mouth, to fill his needy desire to suck. It was one of my favorite spells. He gazed up at me, tongue lolling out. He looked dazed, and finally after long last, submissive. His mouth ached for a dominant man’s thick cock. He would get it. I moved the spell slowly through his body and he squirmed as it went down his throat, into his fluttering stomach, and finally to his round toned ass.

“What’s going to happen now?” He asked with spit clinging to his face.

“Get on the bed. Legs in the air.” He was swept up in my control. My control, and the indelible ache in his ass.

He got on the bed flat as a board with his hands at his sides, not sure what to do.

I strode over to the bed so I was standing at the foot and his feet were right in front of me. “Legs in the air I said.” And I grabbed his legs and pulled him across the bed towards me. I held him up by his ankles. He was light and I bent him over himself. He was flexible, like Alis, all that cat burglary no doubt.

I let my hardness rest on his groin and stomach. He was well endowed for a human, but I made every part of him look small, my spear reaching up past his belly button, my cock flattening his. He looked understandably very nervous that he was about to have his guts rearranged.

The magic would protect him but he did not know that. “I thought you said you had done this before? That you were excellent at it?”

“I am!” He piped. “Just I have never…”

“Yes?”

“I have never received. Never been fucked. We could switch? I would surprise you! Please, I’ve never.”

“Neither have I.” And I lined myself up with his rosebud. He looked like he was about to say something more, but then I began to push. He stretched. He had **** but to stretch. He did not scream, as I worried he might. He simply moaned and whimpered as I filled the painful emptiness I had planted in his ass.

I sheathed myself in him and his eyes rolled up in his head. Alis had made the same face earlier. They all did, when they are this full. I began to fuck him. Holding his legs up by the ankles, and slow stroking in and out of him. Getting him ready. His dick erupted again and again as I plundered his aching guts, no doubt just from the sheer pressure. He whimpered, moaned, and huffed. He was lost in pleasure, drowned by it. Swimming in bliss as he took it.

I pulled out of him with a squelching and could hear his gaping ass sucking for air. “What are you?”

He was sweating profusely, his pink hair plastered to his scalp. He flipped over onto his knees and held his gaping ass open for me. All pretense and arrogance fucked out of him. He wanted a massive mind breaking cock and he was past the point of caring. “Please?”

I scoffed and kneeled behind him, mounting him in one smooth motion that made his eyes cross and his hips shiver. “You have been an ill-behaved boy.”

“Make me a good. Please make me good!” He pleaded.

I grabbed his whole head in my fist and slapped his ass with my other hand. He yelped out from the pain as I battered his ass in bright red hand prints. My hand, like pan or a paddle as I bruised him. I pulled his head back his pink hair sticking out between my fingers and kept pulling until his neck was all the way bent and his back was arched as far as it could go. “Did you really think you could steal from me?”

“No, sir!” He squeaked. But it was the wrong answer, he most certainly had thought he could. I pushed deep into his guts with a small thrust of my hips. He grunted like I had punched him. I just pulled harder on that pink hair of his.

“Did you really think you could beat me at stones?” I snarled.

“No, sir!” He said worriedly, knowing it was not what I wanted to hear but at a loss for what he was supposed to say.

“You are a liar, a thief, and a foolish boy” I stated with a growl. This he thought he understood and began to beg like before.

“Make me good sir, make me a good boy, make me a good boy!”

I pulled part way out of him and he moaned, appreciative for the release of pressure on his insides but also greedy to be stuffed again. It was always the same with these little sluts. Boy, or girl once they had me in them they did not know anymore: should they be scared that I in my bestial temperament would use my weapon to fuck them to ****? Or would they except that they might die, and just try to get the most out of the pleasure?

I put my hands on his hips, wide for a man, though not near as wide and plush as Alis’s. There was a lull in the storm as I gripped him there, cock not fully sheathed, hair not pulled. He did not dare stop arching his back though.

“Uh, sir, are you?” And then in a very small voice, a voice with a small little pathetic lilt at the end, “Are you going to make me good?”

He looked ashamed to have said it. It was good though, his brain was good at making fast calculations and he had made this one just as quickly; annihilation was acceptable. How he had grown in the moments we spent together. Not today though, I had promised.

I laughed at him. He blushed and might have been about to spit out an acrid retort, but I preempted it. My hand began to squeeze his hips and pull him in. Sliding inch after inch into him, deliciously slowly, stretching his guts. Only magic was keeping him alive, alive and stretchy.

“For every thrust you will apologize.” He nodded furiously in ascent. “Every time my hips collide with your bubbly little butt you will shout out how bad you have been.” He nodded again. “If you feel the difference in our power, the difference in station between a little thief and a Lord Sorcerer; when you feel that all that is left of your personality is me inside you then you will tell me what a pathetic little mewling slut you are.” He nodded even more furiously.

I began to thrust. It sent tremors through the bed, through the room. Holding him up by the ankles I had been comparatively gentle. The **** of my hips colliding with his ass now sent spittle flying from his lolling mouth across the room. Haha, good. “Do it! Tell me what you are?” I thundered.

He was holding on for dear life. “I’m a pathetic little slut! I’m a bad boy! I just want to be a good boy sir! I just want to be a slut! Fuck, sir, ugggggggggggh, I am sorry, I am sorry, make me good, make me good, make me good…”

“You came to take from ME. Now who do you belong to?!”

“I’m your whoooore!” He came I think. A spouting little dribble onto my sheets. I could not really tell, nor cared. We would stop when I was done. I grabbed hold of his hair again and thrusted hard as he gasped and babbled. “Keep talking!” I yelled at him over the din of his pounding.

I fucked him with reckless abandon as he whined and cried about how much of a slut he was. He pleaded to be made a good boy as I conquered a helpless bitch.

“Who’s this?” Alis asked from behind my shoulder. She was dewy, wet, and wrapped in a towel that was my size.

“A thief, a cheat, a greedy fuckable ass….” I roared as I emptied a deluge of hot cum into his bowels. He yelped, came a final time and collapsed onto his face. His legs shaking uncontrollably.

“How did you manage all this while I was in the bath?” She asked in disbelief. She looked at the game table, my softening sore cock, and the upturned gaping and dribbling ass on my bed. I grunted and wiped off my dick on his cheeks. I shrugged at her. She sighed. “You really are too much sometimes. A thief breaks in, an assassin maybe even, and instead of setting off the alarm, driving him off, or making sure I am okay, you fuck him?”

“Why would you be not okay?” I asked confused.

She glared at me. “I was right in the other room! In danger! Potentially! And you are going to town just on some guy? Playing him at stones even?”

“Yes?”

“Unbelievable.” She grabbed her clothes and stalked out.

He rolled over, his face plastered with drool. “More?” He said shakily. I could not tell if it was a plea for my cock or my mercy.

“Whatever I am done with. You can go.”

He looked grateful, crestfallen, and destroyed as he waddled out after Alis on trembling legs.

I sat in my chair and thought. What made Alis so mad? Did I blunder again? I looked down at my softening cock. Contemptible thing.