He shouts into the gag of silver, and I can almost make out the muffled string of swears he lets loose. I’m sure I’m going to pay for that when it comes time to free me from this godsdamned conjuration, but hearing him reduced to whimpered pleas is worth it.
I smirk before I swallow him again, massaging his testicles in apology. The silver starts to dance, and Arlon tenses under my hands. He’s bracing himself to be denied again even as the pitch of his whimpers change, heighten. His body tenses with all the telltale signs, yet this time, I let him have it.
The silver dances with color, a sunset over rippling waters. And when Arlon finally cums, I accept every drop he gives me.
He slumps in the silver, relief coloring every ragged exhale. I wait, holding his softening length in my mouth until the colors fade from the silver. Slowly the colors go dark, and the silver settles back into its normal, inert shine. Only then do I start to ease him out of it.
He clenches his eyes shut, face pinched into a grimace. That look makes me think we’ve succeeded, but I don’t ask, letting him come down from the high of the spell first. I free his arms, and he lifts one hand to cover his eyes even as the other hand rests against one of the magiline pillars for support.
“Fuck,” he says, voice thick.
My stomach sinks. We succeeded. And just looking at him, Arlon hated what he Saw.
I slough the silver off of his legs before I grab one of the blankets from the back of the chaise and throw it around his shoulders. I guide him to sit before I fall into the spot beside him.
He’s quiet for a long moment, his elbows resting on his knees as if the weight of holding his own head up is too much to handle.
“Can I touch you?” I ask gently. Ever since we did the spell for my illusion mastery, it feels like I can almost read his mind at times, but right now, I’m not sure what he needs.
Arlon doesn’t lift his head, but he nods as he drags in a shuddering breath. I put a hand on his back, smoothing the soft blanket over his bare skin even as his shoulders heave.
He’s crying.
I swear quietly before I wrap my arms around his waist. He wipes the tears away from his face like he’s mad at them, and the grief and anger I see makes me dread what he has to report.
Yet I’m still unprepared for it when he says, “Lucien’s dead. Or he will be soon with the condition the Crown left him in.”
“Condition?”
“They tortured him. I doubt he can even walk after the beating the Crown gave him.” Anger simmers in his voice, behind his eyes. “I don’t know where he is exactly. Somewhere high in the Hobokins. I saw snowpack. It seems he didn’t make it as far as he hoped.”
A shiver rushes through me. The chill of the oncoming winter has settled over Straetham and no doubt it’s already far colder in the mountains. “Can we reach him?”
Arlon’s face falls before he shakes his head. “I don’t see how. He looked to be in the middle of nowhere. We could send out a search party, but by the time we find him... he’ll be long gone.”
I’m quiet as I swallow that truth. I had no strong connection to Lucien. He came to the Crux before me, cast with his own circle. But, for better or worse, Arlon has a relationship with everyone.
“I’m sorry, sir.” It’s inadequate, and I know that, but it’s all I can say.
Arlon’s eyes gloss over before he buries his face in his hands. He’s quiet for a long moment, and I can almost feel the grief rolling off of him in waves. When he finally speaks, his voice is thick.
“Let Lucien serve as a lesson and a warning for you,” he says quietly, though he doesn’t lift his head. “You never know what decision you make will end up being your biggest regret.”
Insatiable
Conjuration isn’t a school for the impatient, but oftentimes an adept who agrees to be locked up doesn’t realize that yet. It’s never a bad idea to reassert your control over their pleasure by using their mouth thoroughly before you decide to free them.
Advanced Casting Principles: Conjuration by Lionel Lorne
I DANGLE THE KEY TOCancassi’s cage like a hypnosis charm. With how intently they stare at it, it may as well be. Sending spells are always difficult to create, but I doubt anyone has had quite as hard of a time this week as Cancassi. With a plug in their slit, another in their ass, and a mercilessly tight cage around their cock, they’ve been downright inconsolable.
“Olbric, I will fight you if you don’t unlock me this instant,” they say, voice shaking.
I eye their cane warily. It’s different from the type we use for casting. It’s too thick, too sturdy, and has a polished metal handle that contours to the shape of their hand, but there’s not a doubt in my mind they’ll use it to try and beat their freedom out of me all the same. After Cancassi passed the poem for the sending spell off to Hughes, they immediately returned to me, all but demanding that I free them.
“Hold on now!” I lift my hands, watching with some amusement as Cancassi’s copper eyes follow the key like a hawk. “You agreed to certain terms at the start of this week, and as your key holder, I intend to keep you honest.”
Cancassi glowers at me, but their iron grip on their cane loosens. They set it down with athunkbefore leaning on it for support. Though frankly, I’m not sure if it’s their leg hurting or the fact that they’re so randy they can barely stand. “Your horseshit isexactlythe reason I don’t normally agree to conjuration.”
