ᴘᴜʀᴠᴇʏᴏʀs ᴏғ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡs‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‎‎ ‎ ‎ || ᴠᴇʟᴠᴇᴛ. x ᴋᴇɪᴛʜ ʟᴏɢᴀɴ ⁽ⁿˢᶠʷ⁾

[velvet.]

𖤍 "Get up." “Yes, Master.” The words came unbidden. As natural as drawing breath. Pain radiated from her crotch, deep in her core, where Shelly was immediately reminded of the ball of divine energy her Master had left in her, buzzing with its frenetic energy. Distracted from the shuddering vibration by the whipping, the ex-valkyrie’s attention snapped back to its seductive hum when her Master stopped painting her skin. Heat from the inexorable crescendo to her climax joined her burning skin, the coolness of her evaporating perspiration providing no relief. Shelly whined. A pitiful mewling sound, the helpless complaint of a slut prodded to arousal, no place in the lewd calculus for her desires. She was going to cum for her Master—a fact as inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun. It would not be the first time her scant inhibitions were released because of him, displayed at his pleasure. The memory stood red hot in her mind, the looming humiliation of getting off on abuse serving only to spur her up the heights to orgasm. Shelly groped. Reaching for the chair that must be nearby. Finding a leg, she hauled herself upward, curled legs dragging against the wooden floorboards, whip marks protesting against sweat-greased slippage. Dark, depraved thoughts of her continued use flooding her mind. Emptiness plagued her hungry holes, begging to be filled. That extradimensional object her Master put in her, that instrument of delicious torment, reminded Shelly how there was still space in her flesh, wrapped around nothingness. Which of her holes would he claim first? Anticipation growled its lustful song as her hands found the backrest. What position did he command her to take? How should his toy splay herself for him? Already, Shelly was leaking again from the contemplation. Her fingers tightened around the metal, tongue lapping at the salts staining her face. Panting. A bitch in heat. Grip the chair with her thighs? Her smooth legs needed no convincing. They latched themselves to the furniture, as if it may try to escape from the ex-valkyrie’s all-consuming lust. ​ And now, the finale. Back arching down, strained muscles shaking, Shelly bent backward like an archer’s bow being drawn by pure submission, her ass presented to her Master as requested. Fuck me. What was he waiting for? Please put it in. I can’t take it anymore. Nothing. Use me to break this chair! Wait…he wanted a vow. Ridiculous. They were a pair of animals and there was only one thing the male should be doing when the female in oestrus presented herself. Her lust reached deep within itself to pull out the part of Shelly that could still speak, shoving it into the spotlight. If her Master wanted a spoken vow, he would have it. Shelly would have given absolutely anything to feel his skin inside her. She had stripped for him, crawled, sucked, been whipped. Had her service been found wanting? Every nerve quivered with need. To be touched. Rubbed. Filled. Taken. Until Skagul ceased to exist entirely, and only Azariah’s slave remained. “Hasn’t this slut already called you Master? Given herself to you? No matter. She offers herself to you once more, in word and deed, for as long as you would have her.” The ravens shuddered. They would have found their way here even if they were not caged. “By stone and sea, by blood and bone, I swear. I, Skagul, Daughter of Asgard, Grovel before you, my Master, bent to your will. With the Nine realms as witness, I give you my body, my mind, and my soul. Where you lead, I shall follow. Where you fight, I shall strike. Where you fall, I shall avenge. Let no fear stay my hand, Let no boon tempt my loyalty, Let no doom break my word. I shall keep the peace you declare, Wreak the wrath you command, And guard your will with my life. Until Sköll devours the sun, Until Naglfar sails forth, Until Surtr sets the realms ablaze, This I swear, by fire, steel, and the blood in my veins. Hail my Master. Hail the fallen angel. Hail Azariah. Take my holes if they please you, Master. Please grace this slave with your flesh.” 𖤍

 

[Keith Logan]

𓆩♱𓆪 Every whip he landed on her perfect hour glass figure looked like a dance, more often than not, involved him pirouetting 360 to build up enough momentum and potential energy for the ensuing lash to land most brutally and critically against her skin. There was not the slightest display of chivalry nor sympathy simply because she was a woman, that one would soften one's approach when dealing with the female gender. The pain had always been accompanied by an omnipresent tremor rocking her nerves deep within the crux of her core. For the most part, the vibrations were no more than a soft murmur when idle. Over time, every lash she received led to an abrupt increment in vibration that came and went as quick as the whip left her skin. The increments were mellow at the beginning. The intensity increased with every subsequent lash. And after a while, every buzz ended up being a toe curling, eye rolling burst of insane quaking that was beyond present human technological capability that was packed of the same size. Whatever Azariah had buried into her sex, slowly but surely seemed to be symbiotically growing with and into her body, adapting to the characteristics of her. That thing inside her was the realest manifestation of how the elusive holy spirit behaves. It was hijacking her nervous system - whenever she was delivered a sharp pain, a violent bout of vibrations would oscillate within her at that very instance, sending her mind into numbing, sensitivity overdrive. Pleasure and pain were processed by the same receptors. And it seemed increasingly evident that she was in the process of being mind washed into learning the association between two distinct yet paradoxically similar sensations, that when one came to existence, so would another follow. This was classic Pavlol conditioning in action. And it was almost literal - Shelly looked a bitch in heat. Azariah watched her lift herself onto the chair like a toddler wobbling unsteadily, attempting her first steps, or like one crawling on hands and knees as they curiously look to ascend a precarious staircase when no safeguarding adults were watching. Apt in a sense, he saw it as a woman in the process of being remoulded, reborn as a baby of depravity, and her daddy he was to her. Also apt was that she was on the precipice of climbing - or descending - towards an unknown pit of ominousity. Which of her holes would he claim first?​ She had contemplated that earlier, perhaps even rewinding in her mind on a few occasions intermittently during the course of the build up in tension resulting from his momentary lack of aggressive stimulation. The being was taking his sweet time, admiring the female presenting her divine body on a silver platter, applying the aesthetical fine touch to the plating with the way she arched her back oh so beautifully, her rear invitationally beckoning. Once she eventually set herself in position, he took the previous bundle of ropes and began to strap her wrists to each corner of the backrest, strings intricately lacing in between each of her fingers until she could not move even a millimetre of any part of her hand, much like she was stuck in elephant glue. He ran the ropes, ten coils around her lower thighs just above her knees, ten coils around the highest point of each leg of the chair, then got generous once they went beneath her knees, coiling a series of figure eights all the way down to her ankles, rendering her entire lower limbs bound and completely immobile. The fallen angel took a moment to admire the sight that beheld - Shelly looked effectively fused into the furniture ware. The simple predicament bondage was a spontaneous design. And while she might not yet feel the effects of fatigue, once it does set in, the female would be confronted with the dilemma of choosing to maintain her exhausting and demanding posture of a 45 degree bend by her knees, which would tire her leg muscles in due time, or to allowing her poor limbs a moment's break by resting her knees against the edges of the chair, which although more dull than it was sharp per se, would slowly dig into her flesh and cause it to ache from restriction of blood flow on that one concentrated pressure point by that fixed area on both of her knees. "I think I can appreciate coming home to you, like this, waiting for me just beyond my door and to be the first object to welcome me back into my homestead. Wouldn't that be lovely?" "I suppose it's just going to take an immense amount of resilience if I'm going to be away for hours on end." Fuck me. What was he waiting for? Please put it in. I can't take it anymore. Nothing. Use me to break this chair!​ Azariah wasn't in any hurry to use her. They had lived for over a few hundred years, and will continue to live for a few hundreds, if not thousands more - what was a few more minutes, hours, or even days of torment if he willed? "Hasn't this slut already called you Master? Given herself to you? No matter. She offers herself to you once more, in word and deed, for as long as you would have her."​ "Submitting yourself is only but the beginning, Porcelain. It takes effort to sustain what you have started. Vows made, still need to be revisited and renewed to affirm one's continued devotion to the cause from time to time. You'll come to learn that my expectations are going to be excessive and demanding. I don't like exerting myself where possible. But if I ever do will my heart to be invested in something - you, for instance -, I'll do whatever it takes to make it nothing less than perfect. If you want to be mine, Skagul, then I expect the same - unconditional, relentless, repetitive if necessary." Azariah was confident the female would comply to his order. What he did not expect however, was for her to conjure something so elaborate and poetic on the spot. His face never showed. But he was quietly impressed beneath the lukewarmness. At some point through her pledging, he began to circle around her in slow steps. Five finger tips of his left hand started off along her right butt cheek, as his nails began dragging ever so softly along the skin of her side profile, sending tingles along their tracks, ass to hips, hips to waist, waist to side boob, took a detour down to her areola to give that tit a hearty squeeze, before grazing up towards her neck to put her on a stranglehold by the front. He choked her considerably when she was declaring her intention to guard his will with her life, which forced her into sounding hoarse for a moment, symbolically holding onto her life literally at the mercy of his grip, which he could choose to snap her out then and there. He held the chokehold over the next verse, then landing a tight slap across her right cheek at her swearing, before his nails track back south to her rear, this time taking the high way of her spine, ending with his palm resting on her tailbone. By then, Shelly was already done verbalising her composition. Wordlessly, the divine being shifted his hands and grappled against both sides of her hips, latching her in space. The next moment, his gargantuan head began prodding against the tip of her womanhood, teasing. He barely pushed. Yet already, the cockhead felt massively testing enough, threatening to tear her pussy apart if he ever decided to pursue her depth beyond an inch. Like a golfer prepping his put, he took his sweet time caressing any space around but the target. Like a golfer taking his swing, his well taken plunge came out of nowhere with absolutely no pre-warning, after a dragged out minute or two. What followed, was a rapid ascendency of pace and force, as the immense shaft plunged in and out balls deep into her deepest core. If Skagul wasn't yet used to it, this was a boot camp to condition her to accept her new reality - of how much a spread Azariah was going to be expecting of her from that moment on.​ 𓆩♱𓆪​

 

[velvet.]

𖤍 Marked. Tagged. Claimed. Like an animal implanted with a tracking device, her Master did not intend to remove the ball of divine magic he had pushed deep into her. Shelly had almost grown used to the buzzing pressure against her womb. Almost. From within, its energetic tendrils spread, reaching out from her core, stroking every nerve and receptor. Was her behaviour born of its influence, the insidious pairing of her pain with pleasure? Or had the ex-valkyrie always been this way? It was a moot point. If the otherworldly ball was to become part of her, forever embedded, this was who she was destined to be—Azariah’s slave, his ravenous little slut. An eternity of begging to be used, living for the next moment of violent ecstasy. Her Master was binding her again. The rope’s texture sliding over her skin, tightening. Fusing her flesh against the cool metal chair, her body warming the furniture as they were made into one object. The interminable process, Azariah’s frustrating obsession with aesthetics, was made more torturous by the continued neglect of her now dripping sex, evaporation cracking its chill whip against her burning need. Please just put it in. Don’t make me wait. But he awarded her nothing. Nothing but the gently quivering toy nestled in Shelly, piling torment upon her Master’s torture. His description of how she would be spending her days bound, waiting for his return, wove itself into every crevice of her being—making her holes twitch involuntarily, empty and hungry. His nails scraped against her skin as she recited her enslavement vows. Her spine curved toward his contact, a pet nuzzling against her Master’s touch. When he played with the darkened circles on her breasts, teasing, but avoiding her nipple, Shelly let out a piteous whine mid-vow. A mournful complaint tainting her words, until her Master cut it off with his abrupt choke. Wheezing the events of Ragnarok, Shelly hailed the fallen angel while her ears rang and cheek burned from his strike—exalting the source of her degradation. Her spine tingled where her Master traced the line on her back. His firm grip upon her hips, the delicious tickle of his trunk’s crown against her folds. She was ready, and had been ready to sheathe his flesh for what seemed an eternity. Her Master did not disappoint. Shelly’s gasp made even the voyeuristic ravens tuck their heads under their wings. Her Master fully hilted himself on the first thrust. That foreign object he made part of her was reunited with its owner within the walls of her flesh, its thrumming energy teasing them both. Bucking from his force, ex-valkyrie and chair shook as one, ropes leaving their imprint on her skin. He was large and fast. Filling, stretching her like nothing she had ever felt. Though she was utterly soaked in slime, his sheer size dragged her innards around. His monument carved a space within her with every thrust, forcing her walls to chase him with every retreat, threatening to turn her inside out. Her nectar spilled freely, coating their skin, turning rough friction into wet slaps with their every union. Lewd moans escaped the back of her throat, pushed out with each vigorous plunge of his impressive artifact. Yet, her position meant her bud contacted nothing but empty air. His presence inside her concealed frustratingly by her own walls. Shelly bent. She twisted. Her back arched in every variation from bow to bridge, desperately attempting to find a posture where her Master’s shaft would send lightning into her spine. With her hands bound and no way to touch herself, realization was slowly dawning on Azariah’s fuck toy—she had asked for a good fucking, but it did not mean she would be allowed to cum, or if her pleasure even figured into her Master’s plans. Sensual moaning descended into frustrated groans. Shelly timed her hips, to push back against the massive member invading her. She was ready. The slightest brush against the top of her slit would send her over the edge, but she had no way to claim it on her own. Would he pump her full of his seed and deny her pleasure? Using her as no more than a cum dump? The thought made her holes twitch. She would have to beg. Beg her Master for release. Through her unintelligible, animal sounds, Shelly found the words to highlight her pathetic predicament. “Master…Please…Please rub this worthless slut’s clit!” 𖤍

 

[Keith Logan]

𓆩♱𓆪 ​ Plea- ju-t put it -n. D- mak- m- wait.​ The dense mana particles that had been concentrated by the gates of her cervix had already begun leaking into her blood stream. Infused with his DNA, his energy signature was beginning to high jack her biological system, spurring mutation as he infused his essence into hers. He was planting his mark not only on her, but in her; the insidious seed, budding. His essence was recalibrating hers to make her more attuned to his frequency. In doing so, he was able to get a muffled telepathic insight into her brain processes akin to poor radio reception, in particular, her active thoughts via psionic entanglement. The clarity and quality of the entanglement were influenced by a complex interaction of variables, which would only grow stronger over time as their essences continually bond within her albeit slowly. For now, Azariah would have to make do with deciphering Skagul's blurred thoughts and make sense of them himself. While his mastery over Skagul was still primitive at that juncture, this was perhaps, the first true step towards binding the ex-Valkyrie to him for all of eternity - where in a certain future, she could no longer hide any secrets away from the divine being that owns not just her body, but mind and soul. But that was just the beginning. The North Sentinel Island as he discovered, conveniently held a treasure trove of forbidden, if not, lost arcane arts and mysterious, of which he was suddenly thrilled to experiment on the female being in the times to come. Azariah could read Shelly's desire from the motions and produce of her body. Obviously, she had also already verbalised it clear earlier. But to be able to pin point exactly what she needed? That was some very powerful knowledge to be able to tap into. She needed him inside of her? He could sense. He supposed she had done just about enough to deserve a taster of what he as her newly minted Master could offer. After all, what better ways to get someone deeply motivated, by allowing them a glimpse of what true high tasted like? But not yet. Still, he wanted to play with her a little longer. As she recited her vow, he toyed with her senses. The pleading and frankly, pathetically helpless whine coming off her as he skirted around her two stiffened buds was music to his ears. The way she thrashed her body in desperate need to attempt meeting her nipples to his nails was peak beauty, along with how he was literally taking her breath away by choking her neck - oh the addictive allure of absolute power, of being able to control what another living being gets and cannot get. Azariah was starting to find himself loving his new pet with increasing affection. He could do whatever he wanted with her, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop him. Shelly could only blame it on her vows. Before long, she was due her intermediate reward. His colossal manhood speared her in deep. The angel was quietly pleased to be greeted by the sight of a slightly slanted, full body length mirror leaning against the wall just directly up front of them. What stood out for Azariah, was the sight of his manhood stretching her taut belly to a noticeable bulge through the grills of the chair's back rest each time he rammed in deep into her. How sumptuously pliable Shelly was. But then he sensed a certain unrest in her body. She was squirming and wiggling in forceful and deliberate but random movements, going against the grain of his thrusting trajectory. He wasn't sure if it was discomfort at first. But then... "Master…Please…Please rub this worthless slut's clit!" Shelly self-sabotaged, confirmed and exposed her own weakness. Musingly, he hoped she would continue to tell on herself more like that in the future. With that new found knowledge, Azariah was keen to weaponise her need against her. Shelly endeavoured to be his slut? Then she would have to understand that her pleasure does not take centerstage in their relationship, but a mere side feature. An orgasm is a privilege, not a necessity. An orgasm is a reward of the highest order, bestowed only if Shelly proved herself worthy to receive one. And she was mistaken, if she believed mere words of devotion and minutes of submission was all it took to win her Master's heart over. No. Azariah wanted her devotion for eternity, wanted to stretch her mind and body for eternity. She might have allowed him to whip her good. But she started with maximal willpower and had energy to spare. She barely began the race, and that was nothing like the marathon that he had in mind. He would bring her Hell on Midgard, send her to the brink of insanity in order to test her resilience beyond any boundaries. That, was what he wanted from Skagul. That in comparison, put the mere whips landing only superficial damage to her skin to shame. She lasted a session. Could she last a day, a week, a month, a year? The psychological toll had yet even to set in. And it is how Skagul manages that extended toll that Azariah was truly keen to discover. Her orgasm can wait, until Azariah decided she had reached a satisfactory milestone. Orgasm was the dollar he would pay her in currency for her arduous labour, eventually. For now, he would only sprinkle her cents of affection as sustenance just to keep her going.​ "You said so yourself, you're worthless. So why should I bother granting you what you desire?" "No, Skagul. You live for me." "If you're going to ask me for something that requires me to go above and beyond, you'd have to show me you could be able to do the same." "At present, you're only doing what I asked of you - the bare minimum. I want initiatives, not a constant need for me to instruct you how to do your job." "Step up your game, nymph. Did you think being my slut was going to be easy?" Azariah brought the pounding up a notch, as the ravens were forced to bear witness a sampling display of mortal brutality, in the same vein how the Vikings of past had heartlessly taken weeping maidens through rapine, the same warriors that Skagul had welcomed to Valhalla. Perhaps this was karma, now made to repent her sins for being complicit to the barbarous regime - every round of pain she had just suffered, and will go on to suffer with Azariah, was to repay for every woman she had indirectly harmed through nordic warriors, one for one. Not only did the fallen angel not grant her the direct stimulation she was begging for, he had deliberately angled his thrusts such that every hit was prodding against the wall that was situated direct opposingly behind her clit, ensuring that she could feel the dull thud against her primary erogenous zone on every plunge. There, she was stuck in a limbo - persistent pressure frustratingly fanning her flames of lust, but not satisfying enough to get her over the edge. Shelly might be busily distracted building the start of her need for release. But Azariah was already nearing his. Before she knew, the thickness inside of her could be felt hardening and throbbing against her tight wrap. Then, it erupted. "Hhhnghh!" His head could be seen lolled back by the reflection, his breaths coming in as deep pants. Hot, thick viscous gushes spread across her core like wildfire, while his nails dug deep into her skin from finally being able to release his cumulation. And the persistent buzzing by her crux? It was blending their fluids together, and the excess, fast filling her up the brim. The reverberations stoking movements, causing their mix to leak out of the narrow space between her swollen petals and the base of his cock. ​ 𓆩♱𓆪​