Bedridden. (Cantarella & Sylvan Varain)

[Sylvan Varain]

Sylvan is nineteen to Sigrith's MILF-y immortality.

This wasn’t Sylvan’s most glorious moment.

He’d been baron of Marlas for nearly a year now, guiding it through one cruel winter and a myriad of raids and invasions by the heathenous Darkmen and Baptist crusaders alike. He’d been starved and whipped, threatened with death, rediscovered his brother, nearly been killed by him, and now…

None of it quite matched up to him sprawled on his back, hands tied firmly above his head and his feet strapped to two poles. It was unbecoming of his position, though that had never once stopped his court sorceress from doing anything else she’d ever subjected him to. Not that he objected. Not once. There was an unspoken understanding between them that he’d become quite fond of, and even still, this was pushing it.

His cheeks were flushed a new shade as blood rushed up to them, hidden beneath his caramel skin as his knees awkwardly came together, trying, effortlessly, to press his cock down. It was embarrassingly obvious with the way she’d bound him, stripped down to the barest of modesty- no doubt as something she’d consider merciful.

“Come on!” He huffed, pulling against his binds, not appreciating the way the rope seemed to perfectly bridge the gap between the tattoos on his forearms and his hands. “You’ve had me like this for five minutes!”

The strange scarlet rose up to his ears listening to his own voice, sounding unimpressively demanding even to himself. The anxiety of it was getting to him, both knowing that she was never going to let him go and, as his prick made clear, anticipated what it was exactly that the older woman had planned for him.

 

[Cantarella]

The only sounds that Sylvan would find in response was that of the sorceress hard at work preparing the inks. The scrape and grind of her pestle as she prepared the powders and herbs and the soft pattering of her bare feet as she worked were the only sounds to reach the bound man before she appeared, glorious, stripped to the waist, her breasts giving a gentle jiggle with each step.

All the while, the lower half of her face was contorted into an expression of mirth, violet rouged lips quirked upwards in a smile. In her hand she held the mortar bowl, fingers stained with the dye, a deep plum in hue.

Those fingers uncurled from the bowl and trailed down Sylvan’s chest, a throaty chuckle emanating from her. Following the line of where her fingers brushed him was the dye, starting at the hollow of his throat and ending just above the waistband of his smallclothes.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” She laughed. “Don’t struggle, little fly, lest you awaken the spider.” Her lips sought the line she had scrawled, leaving another imprint in violet in the shape of her lips. And yet, her stained hand did not seek the tenting of his smalls, rather ghosting up his toned abdomen, his chest. Every touch elicited a further spark of arousal, from the way her fingers splayed over his nipples, tweaking the arrogant upturned little nubs, and the way she just avoided touching his straining cock.

“Want this?” She teased, the palm of one hand briefly hovering over him, not quite touching. “You’ll have to be patient.” She said firmly, dipping her fingers in the dye and beginning to run it along his straining limbs, drawing glyphs and runes all across the flesh, the pigment striking against the darkness of his skin. Each completed line was rewarded with another kiss, another press of her lips and another imprint of her lips in a violet that matched his eyes.

 

[Sylvan Varain]

Those lips had muttered spells that had stolen the life of their enemies, leaving them shuddered carcasses, not long after assisting her in making sure that souls stayed within their host’s bodies, muttering incantations of healing and good health that she must have learned decades or centuries before he was born. She’d also used the same pair of lips to suck his cock.

That the same thing she used to destroy had also been used to bring him so much pleasure was not a fact lost on the young baron. It only served to send more of his blood south, to make his knees feel just that much more weightless, the experience of it never, a single time, becoming any less shocking to his senses. He had no idea how he’d managed to find himself so regularly relieving himself - and helping relieve - the sorceress, but he’d be damning himself for perjury if he said he didn’t love every moment of it.

Even this one.

Even now, where he could feel her lips, full and an all too familiar color, put their weight against his skin, molding against his lean body until she was satisfied that she’d made a healthy spread across his body before leaving him with a resounding ‘pop’ as the vacuum of air between her lips and his skin was filled. Each time made his cock jump. As if he were still a fool virgin and hadn’t already gone to far places with Sigrith.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his eyes not able to decide whether they should be looking at the perfect mimics of her lips left behind on his skin, burning a hot trail into his nimble flesh, or on her full breasts that pillowed against his body when she leaned in deeply enough, feeling them swell across his chest and thighs, wrapping around him ever so gently and making his head go light.

The teen’s skin twitched and recoiled with each gentle kiss the sorceress gave it. It quivered beneath her talented mouth before her arrival, nearly flinching away from her before she was smearing herself against it. His flesh, much like her lover, would finally settle down and submit itself to her, sweltering under her tender kiss before she left it with a violet gift in her absence.

He didn’t question what additional strangeness she was adding to his already marked body. There was no room for it in his mind.

“Sigrith!” He nearly shouted, voice annoyingly high. “Just…how much of that dye do you have?”

 

[Cantarella]

Sigrith’s lips curled up even further until she bore a Cheshire cat-like grin, absolutely unhinged. Sigrith was clearly living for this, as her cruel little fingers finally ghosted over his weeping tip, the pre leaving a dark imprint on his smallclothes. It was the lightest of touches, barely a touch at all, but intoxicating all the same.

“Sylvan, you brute,” she admonished him, but with a playful lilt to her singsongish voice. “Keep that up and I’ll keep you tied to this bed, unable to stop cumming until I tell you to, until you’re ejaculating not a single drop… or, would it be worse if I tormented you, wouldn’t allow you to cum, perhaps with a spell?” She chuckled darkly at that, deep in her chest, tits jiggling with the movement.

At his query, however, she tilted the bowl of the mortar and pestle to show him that a third of the ink remained, the faintest of smiles remaining etched upon her lips, the light of the setting sun alighting upon the upturned nubs of her nipples, shimmering through the piercings set through them.

“I should edge you until you cum without me setting a single hand on you, for such temerity.” She huffed in mock outrage. But Sylvan would know that Sigrith was having the time of her life.

“What say you, then, in your defense?”

 

[Sylvan Varain]

Oh fuck. She wouldn’t. The elf knew she was sadistic, and she knew that he knew that her threats only made his cock shamefully drip more cum- but she could only keep him here for so long. Like a frightened animal his mind is scattered, lost to his fear and arousal of what she might just do to him.

Which would he enjoy more? The thought of cuming in her mouth, in her cunt, on her face, and between her beautiful breasts- her deciding to drain him until he could hardly stand… the thought, the catharsis of it, festered in his mind like a plague. Nearly every man in the castle had dreamed of fucking the sorceress, and only he had the privilege of her threatening to make him orgasm until he was begging for it to stop.

Despite all of that, the thought of her denying him his right to cum still made him pant and his toes curl hard.

“I…”

Words were failing him. He wasn’t sure. He could only look into what was left of her dye, feeling its magnificence spread out across his lean body, thanking Sigrith quietly for having tied him down so he couldn’t fall.

He damns himself by glancing up at her lips and her mad, arrogant eyes.

With great reluctant, the boy sighed, relaxing - barely - into his restraints as he angrily spoke.

“Please make me cum, Mistress. And… could you kiss me while we still have ink left for me to wear on my mouth, Ma’am?”

He nearly cums from saying her title. Only from her disciplining and his self-restraint does he stop himself.

 

[Cantarella]

Sigrith speaks two words:

“Good boy.”

Her mouth descends upon Sylvan’s, tongue parting his lips and snaking inside his mouth, coiling around his tongue. The violet ink smears across his lips, down his chin, while her naked breasts mash onto his chest. One hand entangles in his hair, gripping it between her strong fingers, while her other hand travels down, down, trailing across his abdomen and smearing the violet dye across there onto her chest and belly. The ink spreads across the canvas of pale, mature skin, pressed against the tawny of Sylvan’s own.

That hand coils around his cock, finding it eager and weeping into her palm even through the cloth of his smallclothes. Her hand is firm and cool to the touch, practically sparking with magic. He could feel it now, the ink seeking to make every touch of her hands, every word birthed upon her tongue, an aphrodisiac.They send shocks through every inch of him, curl his toes, an icy finger touching every exposed inch, alighting upon the sensitive nerves…

But she is not so kind, not yet, to disrobe him, leaving the youth yearning for the touch of her bare hand on his cock.

Her hand, instead, falls away from his cock, relieving him of the external pressure. But what his shaft and head was instead greeted with was the warmth of her mouth as she used her magic to dissolve his smallclothes, briefly exposing him to the air before she caught him in her mouth, her body sliding down. The ink, while smeared, miraculously retained its glyphs. The important things remained intact.

 

[Sylvan Varain]

His heart flutters at her praise and her young charge lets out a needy, submissive moan when the full weight of her lips presses down on him. Her lips; full, perfect, and with months of practice of taming the foreign prince and bringing him to heel. Much of that time was spent educating him or scolding him- more often it was spent wrapped around his cock as it drew incoherent whispers and pleading from him.

Now the witch hungrily consumed the dark boy’s mouth in turn, her treacherously soft and curvaceous body laid atop his own, her heavy breasts, once shifting freely, now immobile and flattened against his chest- his mouth proves an easy conquest for her, lips shifting aside for her invasive, sweet tongue’s taste buds filling with the familiar, mint taste of the baron’s mouth. There’s a certain intimacy to each of their kisses that drives the man wild, and this is no different as heat travels both north and south in his body. Her nails find purchase in his raven-black hair, his chin dipping into his chest as he sighs happily under the woman’s touch, glad to be guided into her mouth.

For a flash of a moment, his violet eyes meet her once amidst the kiss- Sigrith is used to seeing a great deal of emotion in the upstart ‘Emperor.’ Love. Hate. Arrogance. Sadness.

All she sees now is arousal and desperation. His hips buck up into her torturous hand, eyes darkening with the arrival of a near orgasm kept in check by diligence and training, his body clenching so that he can save himself the embarrassment of cuming into the woman’s hand.

When Sigrith leaves, it’s all he can do to breath a sigh of relief as her tongue retreats from his mouth, slithering away after easily battering and subduing his own resisting appendage- it takes him a moment to bask in the presence of the lipstick that now clings to his mouth, the moist violet painted onto his lips in a way that makes his head go weightless and his attention slacken.

Until, of course, his foremost advisor started sucking his cock.

Precum drips into her mouth into her mouth. Like above, her Lord is a sweetly tasting thing, and a string of curses in a language she can’t quite understand is all she can hear, mumbling prayers in his equally strange religion as the talented lips that had made short work of him above now take in the bronze-skinned cock below.

“Oh. Fuck. Mistress. Fuck.”

Finally, words she can understand.

His testes brush against her chin, raging with pent up release and bumping against her with each attempted humping of her face. Sylvan had regretted not being able to hold Sigrith when she’d kissed him thanks to her bonds, straining hard against his firm restraints- and now they yearn to grasp onto her head to mount and fuck her mouth properly like a Lord should, a conqueror; and not strapped to a bed and sucked like a whore.

His weeping cock continues to drip into her throat, her lover’s orgasm coming quick and fast as her breasts pressed against his thighs and her most loving, charming hole worshipped his prick.

 

[Cantarella]

The sorceress felt a rush of euphoria, of a young prince fully conquered by her carnal magicks.

His smallclothes were gone, disappeared into the ether, to be summoned back and rematerialized at her command. Sylvan lie stripped before her, his form scrawled in runes, with the largest of them about his pelvis, trailing up onto his abdomen. She could, with a snap, make it so he couldn't cum... or, alternately, couldn't stop cumming. Though, which one did she have a yearning for this time? Could she stop him just at his peak, or would she let him empty himself until he had nary a drop of seed left in him?

Well... Why not both? She mused with a brilliant smile, rouged lips quirking upward from around his member stuffed deep inside, her throat muscles spasming around it as she tamed her gag reflex.

She only wished she could see the look on his face when she lifted her hand...

And snapped her fingers, cutting off his ability to cum from her mouth alone, not this time. It felt like all of the muscles in his pelvic region went taut, all the way up to his belly, tingling, even, not allowing him his release. She tasted him the whole while, that delightful hint of mint that was carried in every part of him. In his pre, in his mouth, and even in his cum, she knew, that most intoxicating of substances.

She wanted to feel it inside her.

With a pop, she released his cock from between her lips, climbing atop him now, her thighs intertangled with his as she mounted him. In one smooth movement, she sheathed him with her cunt, her head tilting back in ecstasy.

"Is this what you wanted?" She breathed, victorious, her exultation writ upon her face. The ink was smeared upon her tits now, and on her plump ass as she ground herself on him.

"Because, O Conquering Sun, I will take it, as it is mine. As you are mine." Her mouth descended on his again, the conqueror the conquered in this instance, her thighs working as she rode him, first with such sweet, sumptuous slowness, allowing him to fully feel her, wet and hot and ready, clenching around him.

"And it is what I desire."

 

[Sylvan Varain]

All at once the wonderful, awe-inspiring pressure on his shaft disappeared just like his clothes had. Her mouth parted from him, leaving him a glaring, foolish looking boy on his back with his cock wet with spit and balm.

More importantly, it ached and ached and continued to dribble and as his body fetched and danced beneath her; his tattoos, once a static sheen of figures, now began to shift and wheel around his body, glowing a soft hue of violet as it shuddered into life. Wards- barriers against magic, whether from spellcasters such as Sigrith or the Princes of Hunger; demons. With his cock the way it is it took all of his will to allow the woman's magic to take affect, to latch onto him.

What kind of a submissive had to allow their owner to make them not cum when sucking their cock?

Sylvan flinched at his own thoughts. These were all, in a way, still new things to him. Mistress. Pet. Foreign, quaint things that still didn't rest at ease in his strange and nervous little life.

They became easier to swallow when there was an unknowable talented and beautiful woman bouncing her ass on his cock. In one smooth and experienced motion, his cock slipped inside her birthing canal and his body coiled around her, the full weight of the sorceress shifting down onto his groin- Ancestors. She looked glorious doing it. Powerful and angelic, or devilish, with eyes weighty with hunger and a strange, insane submission and dominance that he never quite understood from the woman. Her slit contracted around him, muscles tenderly massaging him as it swallowed him, forcing him to acknowledge, beating down on him with it, that his orgasm still hadn't fit him but was moments away from spilling straight onto her eager, willing womb.

With hips gyrating and shifting as she danced her body atop him, thighs meeting as her ass clapped against his skin - smack, smack, smack - it proved too much for him. The rhythm of noise as their bodies met, and the grateful platitudes of a woman conquering her master... it...

Sylvan, once freed from her mouth, of all things, let out an airy, uncertain laugh as his eyes pulled away from her bouncing tits, more enchanted with them than any spell.

"You make these titles up as you go along."

His banter comes out strained, his voice an embarrassingly higher pitch than he'd like, seeing only stars when she takes him in to the hilt, letting out a needy huff before he focuses.

"Your Sun is fucking pleased, Sigrith. He wouldn't mind having his hands released so he could put his hands on his mage."

Frankly, he wanted to eat her pussy. He'd make due with cradling her swelled, child-bearing hips and breasts while she fucked him to death. Surprisingly, his voice comes in something filled with more metal than its usual softness.

"Your Master commands it."

 

[Cantarella]

Sylvan's indignant, boyish glare was sweeter than honey to the sorceress.

After all, he had every right to be as angry as he was; she had denied him, time and again, the pleasure of release. She had painted him with her lips, with her fingers, and now those glyphs- those wards- whirled around his body, borne by the ink she had applied to him so diligently. It was all done in a well-meaning manner, but the gift of her pussy now wrapped around his eager cock...

That was all for her.

Her teeth found her lower lip as she bounced on him, her heavy breaths, her soft grunts of exertion, the slap of her round ass on youthful thighs and the fleshy sound of her breasts knocking together a quiet song of sated lust. At first, her head was tilted back, face toward the ceiling, her eyes closed, until she lowered it to gaze into the incensed violet eyes of her Sun, the glare she was met with being greeted, in turn, with the upward quirk of her lips, with a delighted, bubbling laugh.

"Of course I come up with it as I go! All of language is made up, do you think it would stop or start at titles?" She bent close to lock her lips over his annoyance-thinned ones, leaving yet another smear of rouge on his mouth. But the voice that comes forth from that mouth was one ridged in steel now, enough to give the sorceress pause.

She could have blasted him away, she could have made it so he never existed, ash to be scattered upon the four winds, or nothing left of him at all. A less patient mage would have considered it... but not Sigrith. Instead, her smile merely widened, and she gave a nod, her strawberry-blonde hair, for a time, briefly obscuring an arrogantly upturned pink nipple.

"As you wish, my Sun."

It was a simple enough statement, the bonds about the youth's wrists and ankles dispersing into an ethereal mist. She remained on top of Sylvan, his cock fully hilted inside of her, one leg thrown over either of his hips, her matronly thighs flexed, muscle standing out on sharp relief on the otherwise soft canvas of pale flesh.

 

[Sylvan Varain]

The impossibly strong threads that bound him disappeared, leaving him free but for the weight of the sorceress still smugly atop him, the sanctuary of her quim happily embracing his invasive length, begging to eject itself inside her and up into her womb. He held it. As much as his body felt the way she tortuously teetered him on the edge with her holes, the baron restrained himself, knowing it'd delight them both to keep up their play for however long they could.

So, with his cheeks still bruised with the embarrassment of the kiss, and the almost insane way she spoke, one of his hands found its way to her hip, admiring the curve of it. Not too far away from that was her groin, its muscles flexing reflectively as it relaxed atop him, the sorceress feeding his cock into it in a sight he couldn't take his eyes away from. He could, however, slow it down, the hand filling itself with her mother-bearing hips, the generous flesh seeping into his hands as he began to subtly lead her movements.

As much as he adored seeing the woman set her own pace and use his body however she pleased, he knew cuming right now would leave him useless unless she used her magic, and her spells never failed to make him uneasy.

"Slower," he commanded unnecessarily, pushing her up higher and drawing her in lower, his hips bucking up to meet her in rebellion until he huffed and centered himself, finally drawing his eyes away to meet her and only managing to get so far as her shaking breasts. They remained as haughty as before, a testimony to the rest of the woman's body- and her ego, and his last free hand made an easy choice of taking one, contentedly sighing as the familiar weight of it came onto his palm, now bouncing rhythmically within his grasp whilst his thumb and forefinger dipped and tweaked at the nipple crowning it. The pink stain of it stood out between his fingers, and, after a moment, he leaned forward, his back lifting off the bed and almost putting him parallel to his lover until he bent and took her remaining breast into his mouth.

With one hand holding her steady, he allowed his hips to spring off the bed, the elf's ears joyfully taking in the sounds of his hips clapping against her shapely, heart-shaped rear as he tenderly held one breast in his hand to keep it steady whilst he made love to her other with his mouth, sucking and weaning off it with an eager tongue lathering over it like a hound, his violet eyes glancing up at her playfully all the while.

 

[Cantarella]

Perched above his hips with fingers gripping meaty handfuls of her matronly flesh, Sigrith's pale grey eyes glinted catlike in the dark, with a sort of sinister light that one would expect of her ilk. Something otherworldly and vaguely threatening, a witch of the woods, a Baba Yaga in a youthful skin. She could keenly feel his cock twitching in reckless abandon inside of her, threatening to spill, begging to, and yet the elf abstained from doing so through sheer willpower alone. Her lips curved upward in a haughty grin, with her rouge mostly rubbed off and smeared across the pale canvas of her face, she bent close and whispered,

"Politely." Her tone was sibilant, a seductive hiss of breath, vaguely mocking, clearly haughty as she ever was. Sigrith was having the time of her life, perched above the elf and riding him with abandon. But now, with his hand freed, with his whole being liberated from her coils, Sigrith did slow down, taking him with such slow sweetness, enjoying each and every thrust of her hips, which was met with Sylvan's pelvis rising to meet her, adding the most delectable pressure against her clit.

A shuddering sigh and a convulsion of ecstasy possessed the mage as the dark skinned elf took her breast in hand, and her own came up to curl around his cheek, a sweet gesture while his hips met her own and his tongue sought her taut nipples. Her teeth found familiar indentations in her lip, eyes gone hazy and lustful and her features the picture of repose as they rocked together as one.

Any quips the sorceress would have had dissipated into further gasps and grunts as she rocked her hips against Sylvan's, grinding herself against his pelvis and enjoying every bit of pressure and penetration, the depths with which he took her.

If not for the mage suddenly stopping and pulling Sylvan up. She turned around, offering Sylvan a view of her back, and more importantly, the curve of her ass and the back of her hips, and she bent at the waist, allowing him to take her from the back to hit that delightful cluster of nerves within her better. She settled with her hips angled up, peering back at him over her shoulder with a wink.

"Come now, ride me as a stallion takes his mare." She breathed, though she offered no insight into her levels of lassitude. "My bright, gilded Sun."