Chapter 1: Introduction
An inky darkness seeped slowly into every corner of my vision. It was cold. So cold I shivered. I couldn't see a thing, but I could hear. Heavy breathing somewhere in front of me, shallow and regular, almost melodic. Was it his or mine? Just when I thought my eyes were starting to adjust, I felt something damp and clammy oozing between my fingers. Moonstone.
My favorite dagger of choice.
The one I had carried through countless battles, both day and night. It had tasted blood, a lot of blood. I couldn't believe I was touching it, feeling its weight, its texture, its power flowing back into me. With fumbling hands, I managed to light the laurel leaf-shaped foliot attached to its golden hilt. Holding it up, a warm glow bathed the room and its inhabitant.
The Necromancer.
He had captured me during our battle, rendering me powerless under his intimidating figure.
His dark robes, parted at the front, revealed a cock, large and swollen with desire, so out of place against the backdrop of gothic art adorning ancient, mossy stone walls that seemingly breathed with unspeakable power.
"Wait," I stammered, "does this mean you'll spare me death if I do as you ask?"
A sly grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He then answered, "Yes, but complete obedience is a requirement.
In return, I'll let you live." A heartbeat passed, then two. He studied the fear etched on Janet's face. "Now then, let's discuss the details of your servitude."
As soon as the words left his lips, his left hand reached out and rested on her pale thigh. The warmth of his touch made her jump involuntarily, but she couldn't fight the growing dampness between her legs. Confusion, anger, and lust collided with her fierce spirit, and her vision swam.
She knew what he was suggesting, but she didn't want to believe it. She couldn't just bow to him, couldn't submit so easily. She felt her walls weakening with each caress of his hand, however, and had to admit that surrendering to him might have its irresistible charms.
"Very well," she ground out, hating every single part of this. "But know that I despise you."
"Despise?" The Necromancer arched a brow, still caressing her thigh.
"Hate.
That is strong," he purred, allowing his long fingers to move up her thigh. With a mischievous smirk, he traced the outline of her 36C breast, teasingly grazing the nipple. "But not as strong as my need to have you, Janet."
With her back pressed against the cold wall, she felt her resolve melting. It was frustrating to realize that she was inching closer to her own desire, but the more he touched her, the more that defiance began crumbling.
A ragged moan escaped her throat as the Necromancer grabbed her breasts firmly, a trembling gasp accompanying each knead. Despite the circumstances, she knew she was both disgusted and fascinated, caught in this lover's dance between loathing and lust.
In one swift move, the Necromancer pinned her to the wall, shoving her filthy, war-worn skirt up her thighs. His hand snaked between their bodies and came to rest on her mons, gently rubbing her swollen lips through the fabric of her damp panties.
She had always prided herself for being the one who could ignore pleasure, deny it, but the Necromancer knew exactly where and how to touch her. It was maddening. Her resolve was crumbling like an ancient castle under the unforgiving tide.
Her hips rocked involuntarily, desperately pushing herself against his palm. A soft, obscene sigh escaped her lips, betraying her hunger.
"Please," she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"Please what?" he asked, his breath hot against her neck.