The first class began, not with an incantation, but with the purposeful, calculated closing of a door, the sound that closed them into a world they made for themselves.
Seraphine's study was a shrine of arcane study, heavy with yellowed vellum, potent resins, and the high, pervasive ozone of worked magic. Tonight the air was heavy with a new kind of energy, one that was honey scented and oppressive, and it seemed to emanate from the man now commanding the room's attention.
He called himself Valerius, he was her instructor in the forbidden arts. He did not sit at her desk, but leaned against it, his hulking figure attired in a black, brutally cut suit that seemed to devour the candle flame. His true self was a muffled pressure behind his composed human mask, a flash of infernal crimson on the rim of his eyes, a breathed whisper of burned amber and something that was unutterably ancient.
"The most potent magic," Valerius said, his voice a low-throbbing hum that vibrated in the hollow of Seraphine's chest, "is magic of concentrated desire. A concentrated wishing is a more delicate tool than any wand, a more effective energizer than any valuable dust. You desire control of the deeper currents of being. To control them, you must first understand the vessel out of which you will derive your mastery. Yourself."
Seraphine, a woman of considerable pride and power, felt her usual composure soften at the edges. She was held by his gaze, a willing student drawn into the pull of mastery. She had negotiated for it, and wanted it. "And how do we begin to comprehend that?" she stated, her voice stronger than she felt.
A slow, ancient smile lit up his lips. It was not a soft one, but one of hard intelligence. "We begin with the mapping of the structure of your hunger. We map its halls and drain out its rooms so that when we do fill them, you will experience each subtle nuance of the fullness. The lesson of this night is one of concentration through deprivation. A chastity procedure."
He pushed the desk and strode towards her with a predator's grace that was more thrilling for its total command. He did not touch her, but circled her, his presence a brand on her back, then her side. "The terms are as we've agreed. The procedure is a bond, but the threads are yours to command. The term 'Solvet' is a safe word and will terminate the lesson instantaneously, if you wish. It is a lesson, little sorceress. Not a prison. Do you agree to begin?"
"I agree."
"Good." The reply was a pleased purr that warmed her from the inside out. "Sit in a study position. Knees apart, hands on your thighs, palms facing upwards. Back straight. Chin up. You will demonstrate your concentration."
She stood on the luxurious carpet before the fire, folding into the position he needed. It was submissive, and curiously, it felt strong. It was a choice. An act of will. He went on one knee before her, his height making her feel wondrously small. He drew out a length of black silk, cold and unspeakably soft. "This is infused with a part of me," he breathed, his hand brushing against hers as he wrapped her hand in his. She felt a jolt of raw hunger at his contact. "It will not merely blind you to distraction, but it will heighten every other sense. You will feel the wind rush. You will hear the catch of your own breathing. You will hear the beat of your own blood, clear as a symphony."
He tied the blindfold securely and the world went dark. Instantly, his presence spread out. She felt the touch of his clothes, the gentle force of his breath. She filled her lungs with the perfume of him, black, cold musk and coals.
"The process is in essence," his voice was in front of her, a warmth of soundwave. "You will have no orgasm of your own. Your body's pleasure is mine to bestow, or to deny, as I believe pedagogically prudent. Your only task is to feel. To map the geography of your expectation."
The first place he touched was not her skin, but her mind. A strand of his mind, dark and warm, caressed hers. She gasped as the wave of raw, untrammeled need crashed over her, hard and abrupt as it made her legs tremble. It was her own hunger, thrown back at her on his demon's lens, focused and distilled.
"Sense that," he commanded, his voice a vibration inside her very head. "That is what we will be shaping. That is your power, untamed and screaming for mastery."
Then he touched her, not between her legs or breasts, where she longed for, but on the flesh of her inner arm. One finger tracing slow, agonizing lines from wrist to elbow curve. The silky possessiveness of his touch, caused her to moan. All of her nerve endings sprang alive, crying out for more.
"You are doing very well," he whispered, his breath drifting softly past her ear. His approval was a fix, and she craved for another fix. His arm circled the nape of her neck, his thumb stroking the tense muscle there. The domination of the motion was absolute, and it dissolved her. This was the 'daddy vibe' she craved, the firm, approving, absolutely-in-command domination that announced both penalty and reward. He continued with his torturous discovery, mapping her physiology as if memorizing a scripture. The angle of her jaw, the dip of her throat, the slope of her shoulder.
Every touch was a lesson in sensation, every stroke a deliberate motion of rousing the fires he had instructed her not to quench. Her flesh was hot, and her breathing came out in constricted, harsh gasps.
The ache between her thighs was a burning, throbbing pain, a second rhythm pulsating out a wild beat of lust.
"Please," she gasped, the word forced from her.
"Please, what?" He replied, his voice heavy with evil humor. He towered over her once more, his warmth bearing down on her breast.
"Please, sir. I want….. I need you to touch me."
"Where?" The word was an order.
"Here." She had the temerity to hold out her hand, to draw it towards her pussy, but his hand held hers, their fingers linking as he drew her hand away.
"No," he told her, his voice too authoritative to ignore, yet not unkind. "It is not yet time. Your desire is the subject of the lesson. Claim it. Let it grow. Let it teach you."
He at last placed his hand on the swell of her breast, curled it around the thin material of her gown. She gasped, thrusting into the contact. His thumb rubbed against her nipple, once, twice, through her cloth, the friction searing and miserably insufficient. He nipped gently, and a shot of lightning speared straight to her core, making her clench around nothing.
"You're so responsive," he said, and the demon undertone of his voice was completely present, hot and hungry and full of promise to bring devastation and ecstasy. "Your body sings for me. It recognizes its master." He did not strip her naked. He merely pushed the fabric of her dress out of the way, baring her breasts to the cold. The breath of air and his hot mouth were her undoing. He enveloped a nipple in the mouth, sucking deeply, his tongue moistening the puckered nipple. His suction was unrelenting, flawless, his teeth rasping with sufficient threat to elicit a moan. His other hand clutched her other breast, pinching and tormenting the nipple in precise skill. She was thrashing, held up by only his warm hand on the back of her neck.
Pleasure, sudden and revolving, built up in her belly, but with no possibility of its being released, only built up, growing and growing, a beautiful, terrifying peak without a drop.
He released her breast with a loud pop and stood up. She heard his belt buckle clink, the gentle zip of his zipper, and every muscle in her body coiled in anticipation. He was going to give it to her. He was going to end the torment.
He opened her knees further. "Hold yourself open for me."
Her hands trembled as she obeyed, yanking the sodden fabric of her underwear aside, revealing to him her wet, raw flesh. Its nakedness, shame, was the strongest aphrodisiac ever imagined by her.
The thick, rough head of his cock thrust into her opening. He was not human; the warmth of him was alien, the thickness suffocating. He thrust in, just an inch, stretching her in agony, making her gasp for air.
"The safe word, little sorceress. If you need it."
"No," she groaned, thrusting her hips against him. "No, sir. Please. I need your cock. I need you."
With one, driving force, he thrust to the hilt inside of her. The breech of fullness was breathtaking, a summit of hellish tension. He filled her to capacity, constricting her to breaking point, the demon heat of him searing her from the inside out. She cried out, a raw, rasping sound of pure ecstasy.
He did not move. He remained buried deep, so she could get comfortable, so she could feel him all the way through. "This," he rasped in her ear, his body on top of her, "is your focus. This fullness. This bonding. This is the channel. Do not forget it."
And then he began to move.
His thrusts were not wild, but slow, powerful, deep. Every stroke a lesson in control, every pull back a lesson in desire, every penetration a fulfillment. He moved to a ruthless, pounding rhythm that left her panting. The blindfold made all of it a matter of feeling, the slap of his skin against hers, the grunts he uttered, the grip of his hands around her hips hard enough to leave bruises, claiming her.
She was coiled so tightly, attuned after all that edging that orgasm came nearly immediately, a wave of pleasure growing in strength. "Not yet," he commanded, and he stilled, even when she cried out in rebellion. "I did not give you permission.".
He waited until the edge had receded, until she was still hanging by a thread, before he began again, his rhythm even more savage. He was dismantling her piece by piece, and demonstrating to her that her orgasm was his to give or take away. He pushed her forward, moving the plane, and his subsequent stroke struck into an area deep inside her that caused her to glimpse fleeting flashes of stars on the opposite side of the blindfold. She came apart.
Her climax was volcanic, rocking her frame with unconscionable shudders, a cry stuck on her lips as ecstasy, white and pure, consumed her. He fucked her through the orgasm, extending the convulsions until she was at his mercy, crying, boneless.
Only then did he allow his own control to shatter. With a growl that held the ring of the abyss, he drove into her again, his climax spilling into her, hot and boundless. It was a claiming, a sealing of the lesson. He toppled across her, his weight a solid anchor, his hot breath along her shoulder.
For what felt like hours, the only sound was ragged breathing and the crackling of the fire. Edging out slowly, tenderly, he removed the blindfold. The warm, golden light of the study was a mercy. Deep, golden brown eyes now looked into hers. He scooped her up in his arms and bore her to a deep, cushioned chair by the fire. He sat with her in his lap and drew out a soft blanket, folding it across her shoulders.
He held a glass of water to her lips and tipped it, his touch unbearably tender.
This was the aftercare. The counterbalance needed for the intensity. He ran his hand through her hair, telling gentle words of admiration. "You were fabulous. So strong. You took your lesson so beautifully."
She burrowed against his chest, shuddering with aftershocks of her release, safe, loved, and overwhelmingly powerful. The denial made the orgasm even sweeter. She learned her lesson.
Valerius caressed her hair with a gesture of groveling gentleness for a demon. "The restriction is lifted. You have full autonomy of your own body again."
She smiled, a lazy and sated smile. She knew the hunger would return. And she knew, with cold certainty, that she would allow him to satisfy it again willingly.
The lesson was learned. The education had just began.