Submission of the Sorceress Pt. 02

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Part 2 of 2. Please see the first part for story description and content warnings.

Helgi was freely used by all in the Keep for nearly ten days.

Sigurd checked on her often, to be sure that she wasn’t taking any real harm. But, as promised, her magic sustained her, keeping her whole and healthy–if not entirely comfortable. Her sex and anus both were often raw and freshly-used, at times swollen from it, but never was she bleeding or significantly bruised.

Even as the novelty of using her wore off, and the warriors turned to fucking her brutally with objects and even their fists for the sake of entertainment, the preternatural powers within her kept her from sustaining any injuries, to the point that she was primarily distressed not by the mistreatment, but by the fact that–even with a wired clothes-pin clasped around her fat clit and a wine bottle spreading open her leaking cunt–she still wasn’t able to find release.

When Sigurd found her abandoned in such a state and removed such things from her, it was difficult to tell whether her squirming and gasping was gratitude or complaint.

It was difficult, in general, to discern Helgi’s pleasure from her suffering. Her sounds and expressions when touched or fucked all seemed to contain some of each; left alone for very long, she would pant and drip, openly starving for attention–but then began to groan unhappily when she received it, even as her spine bucked and her hips twitched in excitement. Being teased and then left unfinished seemed to pain her more severely than anything else.

Sigurd was resolved not to use the sorceress’s cunt yet, but he couldn’t deny the powerful arousal he felt at seeing her restrained and subjugated–at imagining her, eventually, begging to be debased, willing to trade what remained of her pride on the chance of sexual relief.

He took a habit of indulging his own lust in the evenings, after applying the latest dose of the whore’s-heat. He stood before her and forced her to watch as he stroked himself to completion, enjoying the wild look in Helgi’s eyes as she was freshly ravaged by the rising tide of need spurred by the herbs absorbed through her sensitive, aching sex.

Each night, he marked how some of the malevolence seemed to leave her expression, giving way to only a starved, mindless need.

***

On the tenth day, that span of Helgi’s training was concluded. Not because Sigurd had marked any particular change in her, but because the artifact specialist he had sent for had finally reached the Keep.

Rather, the specialists: there were two of them, as it turned out. Sigurd had not known as much when he wrote them. He had been advised that the finest artisan of magical artifacts in the region went by the name Beldottir, and had presumed this to be a single woman, but it was instead two sisters who arrived: Dagny Beldottir, who was a fine craftswoman of physical trinkets with the arcane knowledge necessary to prime them for enchantment; and Gyda Beldottir, a skilled hedge-witch who could lay the workings of spells into the finished objects.

They were advanced in age, to the point that Sigurd was impressed with their quick arrival–but they were still delighted with the spectacle of the restrained sorceress, and took their turns playing with Helgi as Sigurd discussed with them what was needed.

Dagny, in particular, took great entertainment in gently petting Helgi’s throbbing clitoris until Helgi trembled and made faint, pleading noises that went entirely ignored by the crone toying with her.

Sigurd assumed that they would need additional time to prepare the required artifacts, but the sisters assured him otherwise. They had gathered enough of an idea of what was needed from his letter, and had prepared the necessary items as they travelled.

Dagny abandoned her torment of Helgi then to present Sigurd with the items: three clever little workings of metal, each gleaming with a lovely red ruby-gem set into them.

“Surely you could not have made these in ten days,” Sigurd said, astounded.

Dagny laughed, her voice creaking with age. “Well, the settings we have pre-made. Good business it is, you know–selling these sorts to folks who’ve purchased themselves a personal whore and want to dress her up a bit. You wrote that she’d be trained as a whore, so we thought they’d be appropriate. I only needed to etch the correct runes and set the stone over top.”

“I see. And these will be strong enough to keep her from using her magic?”

“Oh, you doubt our skill?” Gyda spoke up archly, then smiled before Sigurd could decide whether he needed to apologize. “These may look like mere glittery baubles, Jarl, but they will be more than enough to handle this wench, I promise you. Though it would be safest to keep her tongue-tied–we’ve brought a charm for that, too.” She gestured to Dagny, who drew another bit of metal from her satchel, this time a simple ring with runes visibly etched along the thick side.

Helgi was very quiet beside bursa escort them, obviously listening, though she couldn’t turn in her restraints to see the pieces in Dagny’s hand.

“Will she die, without the magic?” Sigurd asked. “I understand it sustains her.”

“It would be a risk if we took the magic from her all at once–that was a way used to execute sorceresses and warlocks, once. Yanking all the magic out leaves them hollow inside, like digging out a river bank until it collapses. But that’s not the purpose of these.”

Dagny turned one of the glittering bits of jewelry in her clever, gnarled fingers and tapped a nail against the stone in one.

“The iron settings will keep her from using her magic, same as the chains you have on her now–and the stones will siphon the magic out slowly. It will give her body time to remember what it needs to do to live as a mortal does. As she loses the magic, she will gradually need to eat more, drink more, begin to show signs of aging. Once she’s entirely drained, she will be a mortal woman, and will live the remainder of her natural life as any other mortal woman would.”

“Well,” Gyda interjected with a dry titter, “any other mortal slave-whore.” She skewered a thumb into Helgi’s dripping cunt, surprising a stuttering grunt from Helgi.

“And she’ll never bear children,” Dagny specified. “No fixing the damage the magic has done to her womb.”

“How long will it take?” Sigurd asked. “To drain her?”

“Oh, that’s hard to know. It will depend on how often the stones are used–we’ll show you how once they’re put in. But a sorceress like this…It should take a very long time, I’d think.” Dagny looked to her sister, who nodded in agreement, and then turned her gaze back to Sigurd. “A hundred years at least to drain her magic, and then she’ll live a full mortal life after that.”

It was more time than such a wicked creature deserved to live, after how many lives she had cut short. But then, it might be enough time for her to make some amends for the harm she’d done, serving others in whatever ways a whore could do.

“Good enough,” Sigurd agreed.

***

Gyda installed the artifacts that evening, at dinner, as she assured Sigurd that the audience of warriors would enjoy the show.

Helgi was first unchained from the breeding bench that many in the Keep had taken to jokingly referring to as her throne. Only her iron manacles remained firmly fixed in place, restraining her magic while Gyda worked.

Two of Sigurd’s largest men provided their assistance, holding the struggling Helgi upright and her legs apart. Gyda sat on a wooden stool that she’d requested and leaned in to examine Helgi’s wet slit, which trembled in the firelight.

The old woman cackled as she manipulated the folds of the sorceress’s sex. “Swollen little nub you’ve got here, witch. Already turning into a proper whore, eh?”

“Will it be a problem?” Sigurd asked over the jeers of the warriors.

“No, no. Makes my job a bit trickier, is all, but I’ve done this plenty of times,” Gyda assured him.

When Gyda produced the piercing-needle, Helgi thrashed, tossing her weight against the two guards–but they only tightened their grips.

Gyda clucked her tongue, patting a withered hand over the hips that Helgi was stubbornly trying to yank away from her. “Settle there, you silly creature. This is tricky work, and you won’t like the feeling if I stick this needle in the wrong place.”

Helgi shrieked into the gag and struggled even harder–but only for a moment. When Gyda leaned in and began trying to line up the needle despite Helgi’s frantic movements, Helgi must have been convinced that the old woman was not bluffing, because she abruptly stilled and stared down at Gyda with wide, horrified eyes.

“There we are. Not so stupid as you look,” Gyda cackled, and then she did something with the needle that ripped a raw noise of discomfort from Helgi.

It was less brutal than Sigurd had expected. He had seen whores with clitoral piercings before, and had always assumed the process must be very bloody and painful; but, though Helgi did not seem very happy with what was being done to her, she didn’t seem to be in excruciating pain–nor was there any great puddle of blood when Gyda finished.

Helgi seemed to be in the most distress immediately after, once Gyda threaded the bit of jewelry into place and gave it a sharp tap with one of the glittering rings on her own fingers.

The gem in Gyda’s ring flared briefly with a fey light, and the gem in the little shield that now hid Helgi’s clit did the same–and then Helgi made a series of panicked noises and squirmed on her feet, trying to double forward.

“It’s a bit hot just now,” Gyda informed Sigurd when she saw him watching. “Sealing itself to one piece of metal. We just use a lock for mortal women, but wouldn’t want her finding a way to unlock it, and she’s got the healing to withstand it. She’ll be fine in a moment.”

Helgi bursa eskort squealed into her gag and directed a glare at Gyda which seemed to disagree. But, after a few minutes, she settled, the panicked noises quieting and her body stilling.

Gyda repeated the process with each nipple. Helgi weathered these more stoically, though she still winced and squirmed during the sealing process.

The final step was her tongue. For this, the gag was removed, and Sigurd expected some foul invectives from the enchantress–or perhaps an attempted spell, in spite of the iron manacles wrapped around her wrists, the little bits of iron now set into her body at each breast and between her legs.

But when the gag was removed, Helgi only breathed heavily and looked down at herself, as if examining the artifacts affixed to her body.

When she looked up again, her desperate gaze found Sigurd, and she said only one word: “Please.”

Gyda laughed. “Can you feel what the artifacts do, witch? Stick your tongue out for me, quick, and don’t bite. When I’m done, I’ll show your master how to use them.”

And–to the amazement of Sigurd, and of the watching warriors–Helgi opened her mouth and extended her tongue, allowing Gyda to pierce it and thread the ring through. She made only a single moan of despair as the ring sealed into place.

“There. Try to beg your master again,” Gyda instructed.

Helgi glared at Gyda and moved her lips, but the sounds that came out were only nonsense; no words passed her lips.

Gyda nodded and stood from her stool, bracing herself against one of the men holding Helgi as she straightened her aged spine. “She’s set. You can unchain her, if you like.”

There was a tension in the hall as the manacles were unlocked. Even Sigurd, despite the assurances he had received regarding the skills of the Beldottir sisters, watched closely.

As the manacles opened, there was a brief, otherworldly shimmer in each of the three gems now permanently affixed to the sorceress.

Helgi stuttered a gasp, and then–no longer restrained by the two warriors, though they loomed over her, ready to intervene if she made any sudden movements–she put a hand between her legs, toying with the glittering gem and metal shield there that now concealed her swollen clit from view. She looked from Gyda to Sigurd, a few nonsense syllables spilling from her mouth in a pleading tone.

“Look at that. Already more than halfway to training yourself a fine whore, Jarl Sigurd,” Gyda said, her smile wide with satisfaction. “Now, the gems can be activated by anyone who touches them with intention–except for the wench herself, of course. No need for chanting or anything of the sort, although some might find it easier if they speak their intent aloud. Like this.” She rested her thumbs on the glittering rubies that now covered each of Helgi’s nipples and said, “Tease her.”

Immediately, Helgi made a guttural sound and jolted, her eyelids fluttering. When Gyda dropped her hands, the faint glow inside the gems was briefly visible–and then covered again when Helgi reached up to rub shaking fingers over the bits of jewelry, wobbling on her feet.

“What are they doing?” Sigurd asked. “Pleasuring her?”

Helgi panted out more nonsense syllables and slid one hand down between her legs, fondling the gemstone that covered her clit, the only one which Gyda had not activated. Her gaze was hot with need as she stared at him.

“Oh yes,” Gyda said, her smile still broad. “It’s a unique sort of sensation they give her, something like being suckled on. They’re powered by her magic.”

“This is how we’ll siphon her magic from her?” Sigurd asked, his gaze fixed on the humiliated sorceress, who was still trying fruitlessly to masturbate around the iron that capped her clit.

“It works quite well. Seen it done once before, with a swamp-witch–much less powerful than this wench, of course, and her master quite liked to pleasure her in front of company, so I understand it took only a decade or so to bring that one to mortality. It’ll depend how you use this one, but as I said, I expect she’ll have at least a century in her before she runs dry.”

“And when her magic is gone? Will the piercings stop working?”

“The iron in the settings will still block her from replenishing her magic from other sources. But yes, they won’t pleasure her this way any more,” Gyda said, flicking her nails against one of the glowing gems at Helgi’s chest, the one that Helgi wasn’t frantically grasping at. “Can be a bit difficult to make them climax after that–they get used to the sensation–but she should be too well-trained by then for it to be needed, I’d think. She’ll only want to serve, regardless of what she gets from it.”

Helgi made a low, desperate noise, and then–again, to Sigurd’s amazement–threw herself to the floor in front of him. She knelt on the stones, stammering out broken sounds and syllables that refused to become words, and clutched at the fabric of his clothing with one hand as she groped between her legs with the other, staring up at him pleadingly. The sensation on her nipples was visibly affecting her, making her roll her hips and rut into her hand urgently.

Gyda cackled. “She knows who her master is, at least.”

Sigurd stared down at the mess of the former sorceress. He cupped the smooth, soft round of her cheek with his rough hand, admiring how the magic had maintained her complexion.

“The third piercing will do the same?” he guessed. “That’s what she’s asking for, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes,” Gyda agreed.

“And it will be enough to make her climax? Even with the burn in her?”

“If you tell it to.” Gyda rubbed one thumb along the other illustratively. “The piercing passes under her foreskin and touches directly against parts of her that haven’t never been touched before, and certainly never been sucked at. Seen whores pass out cold from finishing when you mix those piercings with the herbs.”

Helgi groaned and shuddered.

Sigurd hummed, then brushed his thumb over her plush lips, which were already healing from the abrasion of the gag. He used his other hand to undo the laces at his crotch and draw out his cock.

“If that’s what you want,” he said to Helgi, “then you’ll have to earn it. Use your mouth, whore–and don’t bite.”

Her eyes sparked, for just a second, with anger and humiliation.

Then the heat faded to resignation, and–with a swiftness that spoke to desperation more than eagerness–she went to work.

Unsurprisingly, she showed neither any experience nor any natural skill in sucking cock. Even so, Sigurd could hardly accuse her of laziness; she licked and sucked, and when he took her by the hair and forced his cock deeper into her throat, she only struggled for a moment before accepting it.

Even as she choked and gagged and her eyes filled with tears, one of her hands remained between her legs, now reaching behind the piercing covering her clit to frig her hungry cunt. Her spine curved and her hips worked and she made little whimpering noises when she could. She was so wet that her fingers made an audible noise slicking in and out of her sloppy sex, and the hall sounded more like a brothel than it had even when she’d been servicing mobs of warriors in her restraints.

When Sigurd felt the swell of his climax approaching, he pulled Helgi in, battering his cock into the tight clutch of her throat. He spent himself there, groaning as his balls emptied in long pulses, pleasure like lightning in his veins.

Eventually, Helgi’s struggles became panicked enough that he let her off again, though he held her by the hair still so that she couldn’t go far as she coughed and spat on the floor. He stroked his cock through the end of his climax, spraying another load onto her cheek.

The crowd cheered at the sight of the former sorceress: debased and desperate and covered in spend, and still writhing on the floor with unspent arousal.

Gyda tutted. “Needs more training in that, does she?”

“She’s learning her place,” Sigurd said, once he caught his breath. “That’s a good start.”

The look Helgi directed at him then was pathetic with hope.

She made no attempt to clean her face, or even wipe her lips where a mess of spit and come dripped from them; one hand was planted on the stone floor, bracing herself, and the other was busy between her thighs, working at her desperate sex.

Her body was beginning to tremble, the line of her spine hitching in sharp little movements that made her bare breasts bounce as if she were trying to press forward into the tormenting sensation of the piercings at her nipples–the piercings that were slowly draining her magic even as they pleasured her.

“Stand, whore,” Sigurd instructed, and then gripped her hand to haul her up, as it was clear she would struggle on her own.

She clutched at him when he drew her close, her body shivering, the quiver of an animal in the throes of rut. As his fingers found their way between the folds of her sex, fondled the hard bit of metal and gem that had been fixed over her swollen clit, she made a mewling noise and leaned heavily into him.

He pressed a finger to the piercing there, and then, just to be sure he did it correctly, he spoke his intention out loud: “Tease her.”

Helgi wheezed and doubled forward, still gripping his arm, and let out a series of strained whines as the bit of jewelry on her clit began to glow as well.

Sigurd reclaimed his arm from her.

She toppled forward, hitting the stone hard on her knees, her body twisted and tense as she breathed hard through what appeared to be excruciating pleasure. Her mouth gaped open and her eyes were unfocused and rolled back, the very picture of a woman who was anticipating a powerful climax.

But one gasping breath turned to another, and another, and no climax arrived for her.

The piercings, regardless of how they might feel to Helgi, were not living things with any propensity for mercy or pity; they were only unfeeling tools, responding to the orders that had been issued.

And they had been ordered only to tease the whore, not to bring her release.

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