Lady Doom: Sequel to Minion

OKAY! SMUT CHAPTER! NEXT CHAPTER PROBABLY MORE SMUT! THREE CHEERS FOR SMUT!


“Well, the first thing I shall write in my personal grimoire will be ‘All words are magic words.’ It may take me some time to get any further than that. I doubt I can rely on always having the perfect poem or story in mind—or on a foe holding still long enough for me to recite it at them. I shall have to come up with a simpler formula.” I remarked to Victor, as the door shut behind our guest. “The soles of my shoes are actually melted, see?”

“You have a lifetime in which to achieve it.” Victor reassured me. “You may well end up redefining what magic is—certainly you will prove a sorcerer in the true sense of the word—one who goes to the source of magic, and creates new workings. Spellmakers are few and far between. The title of Sorcerer Supreme merely goes to the most powerful and skilled sorcerer of the age. None of the Vishanti were Sorcerers Supreme, in their mortal days—what they were was spellmakers, innovators… I am struck by how well and harmoniously our strengths complement one another. We truly will end up ruling the world.”

I was glad to hear him say that, as I had been concerned about Victor’s competitive streak. A spouse ought to be a partner, not a rival, after all. But his tone of voice suggested that even if I did wind up becoming a more notable mage than he, it would be fine with him.

“I’ve been wondering why you gave up ruling the world when you used the Purple Man’s power to get it. Janet said you essentially gave it back.”

“The reason for that is simple.” Victor explained. “It was an empty victory, in the end. The world did not obey me out of choice, but by compulsion, even if it was the gentlest sort of compulsion. I ruled a world of slaves, and my success left a foul taste in my mouth.”

“It must have been like being weightless.” I said, after I thought for a moment. “Without the resistance of gravity, muscles atrophy and bones become fragile. With no one to oppose you, it would be easy to lose your edge. Not to mention that it must have been pretty boring.”

“To be quite honest with you,” he admitted, “it was unspeakably dull.”

That made me laugh. When I stopped, I asked him, “I am real, aren’t I?”

“Are you real? What can you mean by that?”

“You didn’t set out to create yourself a companion, and decided to make a tall, dark-haired girl with a healthy libido, a high IQ, and a side serving of art and literature, the result being me? We’re so good together, it hardly seems like this can possibly be random.”

“No.” he said, soberly. “You are real. Even if you were end result of a great deal of genetic engineering and careful conditioning and programming, I could not have done so good a job. I would have left out too many essentials—your wild originality of thought, your propensity to surprise—I might have left out the sense of humor entirely, which would have been a grievous mistake. I had few preconceived notions of what the woman I would marry would be like. I certainly did not anticipate you.”

“You know,” I said. “That statement, combined with how I felt at dinner when I realized you are proud of me—proud of my wits and my intelligent—only reinforces my plan to try my best to make you feel even half as good. I’m going to go upstairs and get clean, because my hair and my clothes smell of brimstone. Then I’m going to get into a choice selection from the things I bought today, put on a sleep mask and get on the bed. If you should choose to join me, I will then do things to you and for you which once made me go ‘Eewww!’ at the very thought of them. Now, however, since it’s you I would be doing them for, they’re starting to sound appealing.”

“I wonder what you can be thinking of?” asked Victor, his tone of voice suggesting that he could imagine them very clearly, and perhaps a few things I hadn’t thought of, as well. “I can hardly disagree with such a well-thought out plan. I will go along with it—this time.”

Shower gel and shampoo took care of the stink of Hell, and I towel-dried my hair while I went through my purchases, which Ulrike had already packed for our return to Latveria. Red and black had their places, but not tonight—nor anything too conspicuously bridal, I wanted to save those—I chose a turquoise lace and chocolate chiffon baby-doll nightie, and arranged myself on the bed in what I hoped was an alluring pose, night mask in place.

I didn’t have to wait long before he came in. “Hmmm.” I heard, as he approached the bed. “Is this representative of your acquisitions?”

“Yes. Don’t you like it?” I asked. Maybe his tastes ran more toward the white cotton panties approach. I had some of those as well. He joined me on the bed, leaning close enough that I could feel his body heat.

“It’s lovely. But such trappings are rather like the wrapping on a present, rather than the icing on a cake—it is what is inside that is of true interest.” With that, he slid one hand up under the wisp of silk while his mouth sought mine.

I closed my arms around his shoulders and pulled us closer together, reveling in how he felt, how he smelled. He was naked, his skin smooth, and I smelled again that woodsy soap he used. His hair was damp—he’d showered too. Already I would know him from any other man in the world, should I chance to embrace somebody else who was naked while I was blindfolded, which was unlikely in the extreme as I know when I am well off.

I gave myself over to the kiss, which was long and deep and already had my insides as slippery as a watermelon seed. What his hand was doing to my breast was undoubtedly helping with that, but he was kissing me with that same thoroughness as he had the first night, taking time to caress the skin around the corners of my mouth. It made me want to arch my back, so I did, and let my hand drift down his chest, over his stomach, to rest on his thigh.

“Here,” he said, tugging upward on the nightgown, so I raised my arms and let him slip it off. “Now,” he said playfully, “I believe you made some suggestions earlier…”

“Yes, but it would help if you could lie back.” He did, and I kissed him again, beginning on the mouth, moving down to his throat, finding the pulse with my lips and kissing there, then where the collarbones meet, down his chest to his navel, and then down his belly, to where his erection was eagerly awaiting any attentions I might pay it.

Going down on a man had never appealed to me in the abstract, but this was different. I wanted to give Victor every scrap of pleasure I could, and while this was new to me, it was fair to say I had a grasp of the basic principles of it…as well as other things.

“Ahh!” he articulated, as my tongue flicked over the head of his penis. I discovered that not only was pre-come slightly salty, slightly bitter, but it had the clinginess of egg white. I swirled my tongue around the head, and was rewarded with an “Oh—yes, like that.” So I did it again, and then ran my tongue down the underside.

Rather than disgusting, I was finding this rather fun, as further explorations on my part produced a chorus of groans, sighs and moans. It was even arousing, because he was enjoying it so much. Moreover, he apparently found receiving oral pleasure so intense that he was reduced to near-speechlessness, which was the first time I had ever known him to be at a loss for words.

I took as much of him into my mouth as I could, feeling the shaft pulse warmly between my lips, and began to set a rhythm, up and down. I stroked his balls and played with them gently.

I had read of men being so aroused that they were as hard as iron—poetic exaggeration, and a poor comparison. Flesh is still flesh, no matter how aroused it may be. Besides, iron is cold, lifeless, and unresponsive. Victor was warm and throbbing with life. I escalated the pace at which I moved, sucked harder. His whole body tensed and quivered.

He reached down and stroked my hair. “As much as I am enjoying this,” he gasped, “I know from experience that to finish we shall have to adjust ourselves a bit.

I freed my mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Here—,” He flipped me over onto my back, and straddled my chest. “There. Now, if you would—Ahh!” I found him again, and really set to work this time, licking and sucking fervidly. It only took seconds before he finished with a loud groan and a gush of semen. Faced with the eternal question, spit or swallow?, I swallowed. He sighed a long satisfied sigh that ended with a chuckle, and shifted over so that he lay beside me.

“Thank you.” he told me, kissing my forehead and then my eyes. “That was wonderful. It has been a very long time since someone performed that particular service for me.”

“You’re welcome. Um, I think I would like a drink of water. Nothing I read ever said anything about semen making your throat and mouth feel dry. I don’t think I can find the bathroom with a mask over my eyes, so could you…?”

“Of course.” I heard the scrape of metal on wood. “You can remove it now.”

He had the informal mask on. As odd as that aspect of our relationship might have seemed to anyone else, it didn’t bother me that he insisted I not see his face. This was a trust issue. Perhaps one day he would be sure enough of me that he would show me willingly, but he might never be that secure. It was him I loved, not his face, and if he had never been scarred, he would not be the man he was—not exactly. And I would have been so intimidated by his handsomeness that I could not have relaxed around him.

I brushed my teeth while I was at it, and yes, I did drop a blob of toothpaste, but it landed on my bare skin, not on the lovely silk ‘gift wrap’ baby doll. A splash of water took care of it. This was definitely the way to go.

I returned to the bed and put the sleep mask back on. “If you are anticipating reciprocal treatment, you will have to wait until I have regained my strength. That was draining.”

“No hurry.” I said, hearing him put the mask back on the bedside. “I’ve heard—and you seemed to confirm—that a man likes to see a woman swallow it. Why is that? What’s the appeal?”

He chuckled, and pulled me against him, spoon fashion. “The questions you ask…It makes one feel very accepted, to see a woman do that.”

“Oh.” I thought that over. “I understand that. I do wonder how you survived those years of celibacy, when you’re so, um…”

“When I’m so, um, what?” he teased me. “I told myself, after it happened, ‘That aspect of your life is over.’, and I made myself believe it. Until you came down to Hell after me, nothing had occurred to change my mind about that.”

“That’s very sad—but what made you decide that? I’m not fishing for compliments here. You’re so wonderful I don’t even dare hint at what you’re really like to my girlfriends for fear of having women follow you around in droves.”

He laughed at that, a healthy, happy laugh. “You do not see me as the rest of the world does, I fear—but by all means, go on like that.” He squeezed me briefly, and relaxed.

“Victor?”

“Yes?”

“I think—I think I’d like to talk about it now. About my mother.”

“Are you certain?” he asked.

“No. But that I can talk about it means that it’s time I did. Then you can make me feel better afterwards…I have to begin at the beginning, with how I ruined her life before I was even born…”

TBC…


A/N: Thanks, Awoman! Sorry I'm still stalled on the others, but I've got part of the next If Music written!

Nat: Yes, those concerts can be very intense! Glad you saw what I was going for!