In the valley within the mountains, in the kingdom that resides therein, through secret murmurings lived the reputation of a sorceress, so powerful that no scholar nor tactician could outsmart her, nor mage best her, nor scoundrel outwit her. Her influence, subliminal, spread so far and deep throughout the land, that she rivaled the kingship. She lived as a myth, a story told to children in the night, a rumor whispered in the backrooms of taverns and the alleyways behind them. Across the valley, the shadows echoed a name: Lasenia, the Sorceress-King

Such a dominant force she was, that Lasenia’s was an existence filled with opulence and comforts to rival those of emperors. And yet even so, sloth had no place in her heart. Her ambitions burned hot as the scorching flames of a battlefield, fueled, as they were, by the coals of megalomania. Nothing granted to her so deep an ecstasy, as that of control. To bend the world round her fingers was orgasmic. To make a bitch of Mother Nature and her laws. To shatter the fragile laws and egos of the world of men. To prove that, should there be a god, it was her. 

None but the profoundly unfortunate, gleaned the true location of the sorceress’s dwelling— any that set eyes upon it, had been kidnapped, or would be promptly killed; ’twas an arcane sanctum in the hidden corners of the mountainscape, a secret private palace, altar to witchcraft and power.

From the largest study of the sanctum, Lasenia’s melodious, womanly voice echoed out into the corridors like thick honey. "Little servant girl~!" Suddenly, the pattering of cute black shoes clicked upon the polished, elegant tiles, chasing after the call of that beautiful voice. The tall darkwood doors to Lasenia's study creaked open, and onto the hardwood came a petite, blonde-haired young woman, dressed up in wonderfully well-frilled, well-measured, and well-sewn— not to mention patronizingly cute— housemaid attire. The servant’s golden hair was braided up delicately into a bun, and she wore decorative, prissy little things all about her— beautifully frilled, white and pink stockings, a precious, little, matching thigh belt; a wonderful satin bow, tying her adorably short little apron on (which itself was no longer than her frilly little skirt, mid-thigh length). Not to mention, the pretty little house-slave collar around her neck. Unlike the iron collars of the kingdom’s labor slaves, or the hide and rope collars of the rare cattle slave, house-slaves were given cute felt collars to identify them as such.

“Hello, sweetie~!” Lasenia cooed, as her adorable servant girl entered the room.

“H-hello, Mistress.” The girl’s response was timid and quick; she was frightened, but she knew not to disobey. She held her hands in front of her, as she stood within the doorway, patiently awaiting direction.

This particular girl, Lasenia had acquired by thieving her away from her wealthy, noble family. Given how well-known and powerful her parents were, the girl could almost be called a princess. So when she disappeared, every noble, and even the commoners, knew and mourned. And yet, from each and every one of their lips, all that was uttered was a complacent lamentation. “Poor girl,” they would say. But nothing more. What’s more, the day the girl was taken, Lasenia herself had arrived at the doorstep of the noble-father, and without even entering his abode, had told him that he was going to give up his daughter to her. The man was heartbroken, and yet submitted helplessly to her wishes. Without an ounce of resistance. The well-reasoned like him tended to, because they knew that no matter what they did, Lasenia would have her way, and to oppose her, was to court even greater tragedy.

Stolen away to the palace, the noble girl had been terrified at first, like a meek, cornered mouse, and had cried for hours and days. But whilst Lasenia had permitted her grieving, she’d also swiftly instilled a strict obedience into her. Disobedience would not be tolerated, but instead met with strict— and often indulgently sadistic— punishment. She would wear whatever frilly attire she was given, and would present herself in a certain deferent way and would address her ‘Mistress’ as such. It didn’t take long until Lasenia's new ‘pet’ was behaving to perfection—and with a well-behaved pet came pampering, affection, rewards. Though still afraid and meek, the girl had then settled more comfortably into her role, conditioned into submission by these sweet little treats.

Lasenia possessed that erudite curiosity befitting a virtuosa of sorcery like herself. She had disturbing interests she simply needed sated; and her new servant was a wonderful little thing to experiment on. Once she found the girl to be sufficiently housebroken, she had taken to regularly setting her upon a table and performing ceremonious, complex rituals of herbs, incantations, and tattoos. It took little time before she had left upon the servant’s bare pubic area a seal of ink; ’twas an experimental, cursed brand to bind the will of the girl to her Mistress’s commands.

The girl, herself, hadn’t been eager to be a slave when she was captured. However, as a daughter of aristocrats, she had been socialized into that well-known gender-based submission characteristic of a patriarchal society. Unfortunately, as such she had received little practice in the way of defending her own rights and dignity. After all, what use is a snappy mouth to a woman, except to make her untamed and undesirable to prospective suitors? Needless to say, such an overwhelming authority as Lasenia, whom dominated kings and generals, was far too much for the servant girl to have a hope of rebelling against. She didn’t like having to wear a maid dress, she didn’t like the tattoo Lasenia branded embarrassingly above her crotch, and she especially didn’t like that her body moved on its own now, that she had been made into a puppet-doll for the sorceress. But she still allowed it all without resistance. More unnerving was the unannounced pleasure that flowered within her from Lasenia’s treatment, from being dominated and sensually tormented by this voluptuous, mature, and powerful woman.

Though this poor house-slave could still think quite freely, the movement of her body was indeed quite entirely dominated by any command Lasenia should whisper. It was in such a state --well-trained, well-behaved, and magically enslaved-- that the formerly noble servant girl entered her Mistress's study chambers, awaiting further orders. Lasenia gazed upon her, like she was a beloved kitten.  

“Come here, sweetie~" she beckoned, and patted her thigh. Lasenia’s pet quickly scurried towards her and stopped before her, where Lasenia raised her hand and tenderly brushed her pet’s cheek. “Are you my sweet little princess?” Though the girl wasn’t obligated by her spell to respond to questions in any certain way, she still uttered her sweet and shameful response with obedience. “…Yes, mistress…”

“Good.” Lasenia then nonchalantly spun her away and gave her behind two condescending pat pats. “Go fetch your mommy a tall glass of wine, hm?”

And so the girl gave a compliant nod and pattered away, letting the enormous doors fall shut behind her. 

’Twas almost an hour later before irritation-turned-vindictive-anger stood Lasenia from her seat; her servant still hadn’t returned. Perhaps her spell had failed. Though undesirable, it happened sometimes, even to a spell-wielder as masterful as her. 

Lasenia marched impatiently out of her study into the tall and wide, cathedral-esque grandeur of her main corridor. Lasenia’s four inch heels lifted her to a height of five feet ten inches, and clicked loudly upon the polished floor, Her wide hips—their curves hugged by the skin tight black and shimmering violet of her sorceress’s dress— swayed seductively behind her. Squinting, Lasenia could make out, at the end of the hallway, a nude figure. Her face had a long and stoic beauty to it as well— a Grecian nose, sultry feminine eyes, pursed but not too-thin lips. Her complexion was pale but vibrant, mature yet beautiful. 

The sorceress’s pupils dilated like a hawk’s, tightening her visual acuity. To her dismay, she recognized the nude figure to be her servant girl. The lass had a strained and unnatural smile painted ‘cross her face; she twirled gracefully like the porcelain ballerina of a music box, suspended immobile upon a single toe. Her motion was uncanny, as if she were kept afloat by some strange force.

“Who DARE,” Lasenia scathed. She paced briskly down the corridor, shrewd and cautious with every step. The sorceress neared the lovely ballerina, and soon caught sight of teardrops streaming down her entranced face—which still held a gentle and uncanny smile. Further, she enumerated other less-dignified details— the stream of honey delicately coating her thighs, trailing their way up to her glistening and naked labia; the manic spasms of her abdomen in concert with the twitching of these lower lips; and a muffled moan coming from behind the smile on the lass’s blushing face. 

Upon closer inspection, she also noticed, branded upon the princess’s back, heretical tattoo designs tracing from the nape of her neck to her tailbone, and which coalesced into a wicked depiction of a spine. Lasenia hadn’t put those markings upon her servant. This newfound, pitch-black spine brand seemed like a brute force variation of the obedience seal she had been attempting to perfect on the princess. Her body was being forcibly puppeteered, down to the last muscle, to such a dominating extent that she was even being somewhat suspended in the air. 

Lasenia roared furiously. “WHO DID THIS?!”

Suddenly, from inches behind her came a seductively deep, husky, unapologetic growl, so close she could’ve sworn she could feel its warm breath tingling her earlobes. “I~.” The manly purr reverberated, as if behind a mask. She spun on her heel and remorselessly breathed a billow of violet flames in the direction of the intruder. And yet, the incantation seared not a thing, except for an ethereal silhouette-afterimage of smoke and shadow, which dissipated inconsequentially in the heat.

"You've quite an eye for claiming pretty playthings, woman.” Lasenia spun again, and there he towered behind the nude princess, with his bare hands running down her curves— a tall, dark figure. The fingers sported obsidian rings and rough callousing; rugged bandages were wrapped tight round the palms. The brutish man must have been almost seven feet, compared with Lasenia’s not-even six. Even from a distance of three or four meters away, she found it necessary to tilt up her head in meeting his gaze.

Upon his face rested a polished white mask. Its eyes were carved slick and feline, and in the black behind them, shone pupils of a dark, golden hue. Ebony steel designs ran at elegant and crooked angles over the white. From afar, the mask vaguely depicted at the same time, a stylized cat’s face and a human skull. In a similarly morbid vein, it seemed the dull white base of the visage was made of something perhaps more brutal than porcelain.

Atop the mask overflowed the blackest locks, dry enough to seem smokey, yet soft to the touch. The mane, so full it seemed as if it were a lion’s, fell past his shoulders and drifted elegantly around the air as though it were made of smoke. 

The man's shoulders were broad, his build intimidating. A heavy leather belt held up thick pants made of what seemed to be black canvas. Over these, tall boots of leather, blackened and held together with thick and rustic golden metals. They appeared worn, as if they had been made and used for trekking through hell. Off his belt, hung vials and beakers, blackened with ash and each filled with a hellish, blood-red sap.

Over his chest, a surcoat of black, heavy canvas which hung down to his thighs, unbuttoned until the sternum; the collar and cuffs were large and folded thick, and the buttons and cufflinks were forged into heretical symbols. Beneath the surcoat was a tunic of the finest silk, a mesmerizing black that shimmered golden with unhallowed life, as if the threads were spun with souls.

“I’ve got an eye for choosing pretty toys, too, girl.” The man roared; she could hear the smile behind his mask. From within the distant sockets of the mask, she saw his golden pupils glaring at her. Lasenia’s heart skipped a beat. With rage, she incredulously asked herself, ‘Girl?’ And did the cretin just now refer to Lasenia as the ‘toy’ being chosen? Did this brute not comprehend with whom he was speaking? She, in turn, somewhat recognized what this man was, upon seeing the gold symbols garnishing his attire.

“Necromancer.” Lasenia seethed ’tween her clenched teeth.

The Necromancer, in his large rough hand, gripped the princess's taut ass, whilst holding firm Lasenia's gaze. He tilted his head to the side. He was mocking her.

“You, MONGREL, dare breach my sanctum? Dare pervert my slave with your unhallowed markings? You dare EVADE my flames, my punishment?” 

Lasenia’s eyes shined violet with indignant fury, and her large bosom heaved, whilst glowing violet just beneath the skin, from the hostile sorcery swelling within.

“You mewl, woman,” the man growled, ”like a pathetic child.”

The sorceress blushed bright red with anger. The insolent cur; his disrespect would extract a heavy toll. She shrieked a vengeful incantation, making the room tremble, as if with fear. All at once, dozens of empty armored sets lining the cathedral-esque hallway creaked and strained. Violet telekinetic tendrils invaded each set of armor, this kinetic witchcraft shimmering in and out of existence. Each and every limb and joint was constrained, resulting in the armor sets being forcibly animated by the sorceress’s will. The hundred metal boots of this Damascus puppet-legion hit the floor, and all at once they bounded violently towards the Necromancer.

But a moment later, it was over. In a sliver of a second, all the iron mannequins had been rent apart and disemboweled. The abyss-black mane of the Necromancer, fluid as a shadow, had morphed into a three-headed silhouette of Cerberus; this feral void beast, in the blink of an eye, engulfed the man, and with the sharpness of a dagger but the force of cannons, the canine torrents of darkness had run through Lasenia's guard like shears against papyrus. The sorceress’s confident demeanor cracked. And then before she could even part her lips again, the Necromancer was somehow standing before her, mere inches away. How? She didn't have the slightest clue, nor could she react before a shadow sliced towards her, and everything went black.

Lasenia awoke. As her vision focused, she noticed that the entirety of her sight was tinted slightly violet. Lasenia’s conscious soul had been torn out of her body, and now resided, defenseless, within a violet crystalline amulet hanging from the Necromancer’s neck. Still more alarming was that the first thing she caught sight of was her own limp body before her. It hovered in the air with its toes just grazing the ground, suspended by some mysterious force. This out-of-body experience imposed upon her was understandably terrifying. Lasenia was a jewel now, worn by the Necromancer, severed from her own body.

And what of said body? The Necromancer approached it; ’twas now nothing more than a vacant husk kept alive by magic. “Mmm…” From beneath the pale mask of the man came this lustful growl whilst his rough hands began to delineate the valleys of her waist, and then the busty curvature of her breasts— a chest naturally full enough to overflow lewdly out from the open cleavage of the sorceress’s skin-tight gown.

Though trapped within the amulet, Lasenia still somehow felt the embarrassed heat of a blush, blossom within her. From within this gemstone, she realized her voice could be channeled outwards to speak; she desperately objected: "CEASE AT ONCE YOU DEGENERATE—” Her voice resonated with a crystalline timbre.

S L A P. Ignoring her demand, or perhaps encouraged by it, the Necromancer had violently struck the cheek of Lasenia’s vacant corpse— hard enough to jerk its head towards the ground, though the body remained suspended. At the shocking sight of the swift and brutal abuse, Lasenia’s voice had choked.

C R A C K. He struck the corpse again, the sharp strike against her flawless skin echoing through the corridor. Should the body not have been suspended in the air, a backhand that rough would have toppled her hard onto her ass. The woman's face began to bruise dark red and purple.

The Necromancer then took hold of the re-animated body, wrapping his arm round the waist and pulling it towards him like some mere tavern wench he had decided to claim as his arm candy. His large, rough hand— the very same that, moments ago, had been groping up the princess— was now gripping LASENIA'S round and voluptuous ass, whilst his other paw took the liberty of freeing her ample cleavage from the constraint of her attire. Each teat popped out with a lewd jiggle. The cruel heretic proceeded in violently molesting the nude breasts. 

“From your corpse, 'Lasenia,'" the man said, scathingly addressing the woman by her name, "I shall create my own wife-doll, devoid of any of your flaws. A perfect woman." Malice seethed through his voice, like the threatening hiss of a dragon's smoke. "Trust me, girl, when I say I shall enjoy its every corner and crevice.” 

“PARDON?!” A wife-doll? She had never heard of such a thing, but she could infer his intention from the perversity on display. “You will be doing NO such thing.”

Yet it became increasingly manifest to her that, at the moment, little could be done to oppose his endeavor. From the amulet, Lasenia could do naught, but watch on in horror as the Necromancer begun. His clawed hand held a single finger just beneath the corpse’s neck, and Lasenia's body, though soulless and vacant, suddenly screamed to life with shrill agony. Its back— from the nape to the tailbone— began to sizzle as the darkest of plumes fumed off of it; once it subsided, Lasenia's corpse had been left with a beautifully intricate design up her spine, just like that of the princess. It was that same cruel slave-puppet brand, and would permit the Necromancer to puppeteer her former body with ease.

Not wasting a moment, the man snapped his fingers, and Lasenia’s magically re-animated corpse fell to its knees. Then suddenly, the doll's eyes opened. Its dainty, possessed hands trailed up its own lewdly feminine body, from its waist to its breasts; it groped these fat teats just as violently as the Necromancer had, gripping and yanking and crushing them mercilessly. The mounds squished and deformed lewdly under the vicious self-ravaging. Each hand then took each nipple between its fingers and pinched down as tight as the muscles of its grip would allow. Within seconds, its nipples were red, swollen and hardened— forcibly erect, and soon-to-be bruised. 

But the pain such brutality would normally inflict, did nothing to discourage the doll. To the contrary, the hands pulled as hard as they could— downwards, upwards, apart, together. Any and every which way, Lasenia’s corpse whorishly puppeteered its own womanly assets for its new owner's sadistic entertainment.

“CEASE AT ONCE!” Lasenia screamed. But she was ignored completely. Lasenia had never felt so powerless before. She wasn’t used to being at the mercy of such a cruel and senseless man— or of any man for that matter— not to mention a man about whom she knew absolutely nothing. Her thoughts raced desperately, for she had to come up with some solution; and soon enough she did. With a cool confidence now oozing from her voice, which would under normal circumstances sway even the most resolute of diplomats and dictators, she concluded, "Let us bargain."

“SILENCE YOUR MOUTH, you filthy wench,” The Necromancer roared in response, to the sorceress's dismay. Through intense arcane study and arduous practice, Lasenia had, during her career, mastered the art of the tongue, and gained the ability to intuitively know the precise combination and melody of intonations to make even the most simplistic of phrases utterly swaying. Yet it had not the slightest effect on this man? 

And what’s more, she had no inclination to quiet herself— far from it— and yet, the amulet obeyed its owner’s command and at once silenced its crystalline hum— leaving the entrapped Lasenia unable to speak as well. 

"Allow me to spell this out for your worthless little woman-brain to more easily fathom. I intend to make molten whatever mind your corpse still has, and sculpt it into that of a vapid, whorish pet.” A sneer of disdain could be heard upon his lips. “Your body will be next. Even with a plump behind and udders such as those that you possess, you are not as unrespectably sinful as a perfect woman should be. News, I’m sure, to a conceited cunt such as yourself." Lasenia was simmering with rage from the indignity of it all— the objectification, the subpar assessment, the straightforward insults. "No, a perfect woman would have a body lewd enough as to remind it constantly of what a ridiculous little sex doll it is. So that is what I shall gift you. 

“When your body is perfect, I'm going to keep you. My companion is going to live at my knees and sleep on my floor and suckle my cock happily whenever she can. I will have her subsist on only cum and urine. She shall cook and clean, and be a lovely little trophy for her Owner, her man. She shall be his stress-relieving rapedoll, and his pathetic, eager plaything jester. His wife-doll." And as if to demonstrate, Lasenia's body stuck its tongue out, dripping excesses of saliva onto its nude cleavage, and released its now-aching chest nubs so it could freely and rapidly begin to shake and jiggle its sex-mounds from side to side— as a consequence, drawing special attention to its now-thoroughly-abused, bruised, darkened nipples.

Lasenia said nothing. Even should he had returned her voice to her through the amulet, she would not have been able. The rage had turned to panic and dread. She was dealing with— abducted by— a sadistic, misogynistic madman, she knew as much for certain then. Her confidence faltered, but she did not lose hope. 

Lasenia's corpse stopped shaking its chest, and with the snap of his fingers, the Necromancer had it, instead, beginning to undress. With each garment that the corpse removed, it proceeded to incinerate every last thread in violet flames; it seemed that said corpse still possessed Lasenia’s ability for sorcery, despite the lack of a soul. Even its hair-ties and clips turned to ash, letting Lasenia’s luscious hair fall down to chest length, untamed.

Whilst Lasenia’s corpse stripped itself of its clothing, and whilst Lasenia was forced to helplessly watch her former body entirely expose itself, the Necromancer now turned his attention momentarily to the princess, that slave of Lasenia's he had appropriated and branded. He had not done the same to her as he had to Lasenia; the princess still had her soul safe and sound within her puppet-branded body. He gripped her face tight, and as he did, the black branding along the princess’s back came alive and shifted like a liquid up to her neck, forming a new design around the throat. At first, the princess’s face contorted with quiet tightness, but it soon relaxed into a numb, blank expression. The liquid tattoo had settled, and now depicted a collar, viny and thorned, stretching around her neck; ’twas a new brand, distinct from the spinal puppet-brand of before. 

“Mreow~!” the princess purred happily. Her eyes were vacant, but blissfully so. Her head was empty, except for the thoughts which the Necromancer was now feeding her stupid little brain. She fell to her knees, front paws on the floor almost instinctively. She was no longer her old self; her mind had been overwritten. She'd been reduced to a docile kitten of a princess, unaware that her perky breasts were hanging lewdly in front of her, or that whilst swaying her cute ass behind her, her nudity could somehow be offensive or shameful, or that a woman of her status shouldn't be on the floor, meowing like a housepet.

“Your servant lass is something of a bitch now, is she not?” The man mocked cruelly behind his mask. “Let us send her back to her family like this.” The Necromancer waved his fingers, puppeteering Lasenia’s corpse into casting an incantation: it swayed its hands and, in a droning tone, chimed an enchantment with its possessed vocal cords. Then suddenly, the kitten-princess was pulled away into the ether in a flashing light, and, in an instant, was gone. Within moments, her family would be greeted by the horror of seeing their prized young lady forever demoted to a whore-kitten in heat. But to the licentious and kind men she would find in and throughout her life, she would still be quite a prize; so, her new life as a pet would be a happy one— that is to say, she would encounter more than enough phalluses to keep herself, mind-wiped sex-animal that she was, entertained and satisfied.

From within the amulet, Lasenia’s soul was filled with terror– and at the same time, an erudite’s admiration. This second brand didn’t control the body nor simply make obedience obligatory (like the initial spinal-brand, and Lasenia’s attempts on the process at an obedience seal, respectively). No, those were clunky, willful, most definitely not autonomous; those resembled puppeteering a puppet, or magical coercion. This latest brand exceeded that— Lasenia could tell, in the fluidity of the princess's movements and in the natural rest of her face. The Necromancer had managed to break down and reconstruct the girl’s mind, to mold it, to alter her actual personality and identity. It was the difference between simply forcing the princess to meow and crawl, and thoroughly melting her mind, her behavior, into a sex-kitten mold. All thanks to that ‘collar-brand.’

With the princess gone, the Necromancer turned her attention back to Lasenia’s soulless, and now absolutely nude, husk of a body– which left her considerably more panicked. As he approached the living corpse, Lasenia wanted to scream; how had control been ripped from her in an instant? She couldn't even protest. She could only look on, as her captor traced and admired her body’s heavy breasts, rounded, womanly hips, bushy mons, and voluptuous ass.

Lasenia had held great pride over her body– she'd cared for it like a temple and had enjoyed revelling vainly in her appearance. And here, her most personal possession was nude, on display, and under his ownership.

“Life has such narrow limits. A woman would die before I could finish altering her,” the Necromancer complained. “A living person is a fragile toy.” Lasenia watched as her own corpse kneeled and spread her thighs, perfectly in sync with the brutal kick to her exposed genitals that was to follow, and which threw her onto her back. It very much horrified and disturbed Lasenia to see such visceral abuse inflicted upon her own body. 

“The dead, however... Take, for instance, this wench-corpse.” The Necromancer walked over to the vacant corpse of Lasenia, which had the expressiveness of a mannequin upon its countenance. This time, it both spread its thighs and gripped its own labia tightly, pulling them apart and exposing its own pussy to him; the sadist then stepped down hard on her cunt and held all his weight there. “The flesh of the dead, is malleable as clay, for someone like me. I could tear it into a thousand pieces and put it right back together.” As he gripped the corpse’s cheeks, it opened its mouth, flopping its tongue out again. This time, he gripped it tight between his rough and thick fingers spitting right into its mouth. His mask had shifted itself up for just a moment, and Lasenia caught sight of the Necromancer’s dark beard. “Yet, the reanimated corpse has a downside. There’s nothing there, behind the eyes. No one to enjoy the torment. It’s a toy, and just a toy.” He slapped it angrily across the face.

There was an uneasy pause— before, suddenly, Lasenia felt the gentle crystalline hum of the amulet return– and along with it, her voice. But she got barely a single enunciation out before her prison, the amulet, had been pulled from the Necromancer’s neck, and pressed perfectly into the beautiful navel of her own corpse. The moment the violet crystal touched the unnaturally warm skin, Lasenia could see through her own eyes again, she was returned to her body– and she could feel everything. It was as if all the torture he’d unleashed on this meat-doll had been inflicted on her at once. Every inch of her skin, every drop of pounding blood in her bruised and purpling nipples, the bruises across her face, the excruciating sharp pain of a thousand daggers in her crotch. But she, herself, could not control her body, only experience it. And so, though the excruciating torrent of pain and the unbecoming arousal that accompanied it both compelled her to shriek out, the vocal cords of the cadaver which imprisoned her made not a single reverberation. And then, just a moment after the crystal had touched the skin, it was pulled away, and the sensation was over. She could see only through the amulet again. Her soul, trapped again within only the crystal, had been disconnected from the body. 

Despite the pain ceasing all at once, Lasenia remained shaken by the sadistic experience. “LET ME FREEEE!!!” she screeched, at the top of her lungs. She announced incantations, curses— anything to escape or retaliate. But her soul had been crystallized, she had no body to cast spells anymore. Her panic was at a peak. “Necromancer,” she scorned, her voice breaking. “When I find a way out of here— and I will— I’ll inflict on you the all the tortures a Sorceress-King is capable of. No one would be able to recognize you were ever human. You’ll be a mound of flesh and agony I’ll keep in my laboratory to experiment on,” the woman scathed from the crystal. She fully intended to fulfill her promise with vengeful pleasure.

In response, Necromancer laughed a deep, abyssal laugh. “If you’re so intent on being difficult, then you can stay put and stay silent as a good woman should. Feel free to witness what I make of your obscene body.” He snapped his fingers and the hum of the amulet was silenced again, to Lasenia’s dismay. And with the same immediacy, Lasenia’s corpse hoisted itself into a squatting position, its thighs parted and its hands resting upon its knees.

Then, he begun. The Necromancer, with his shadowy claw, carved a deep but small slit atop the corpse’s left breast, just above her heart. He took a blackened vial from his hip, full of a noxious crimson liquid, and tipped a drop into the wound of the corpse. From it, a red glow began to spread through all the veins and capillaries over its body, before fading and allowing its normal skin tone to retake itself. Suddenly, the corpse-doll’s bruises mended themselves, its cut sealed itself— it was as if no harm had been inflicted upon it. Its nipples too lost their bruise-purple shade, except what's more, they stayed even more-excitedly erect than before. Similarly, its face flushed a lusty warm-pink. As Lasenia watched this increasingly-perverse regenerative fluid affect her former body, in her periphery she caught sight of a glistening sheen— a sleek moistness was running over the lips between the body’s thighs. Finally, over the former cut above her breast, a void-black brand appeared in the shape of a heart, with a cross-stitch design down the middle. A brand-new brand.

“The gift of the perfect whore’s libido. To keep my bitch in heat.” For emphasis, he kicked Lasenia’s corpse in the pussy on ‘bitch.’ It crumpled backwards onto the floor, and the redness and bruising could be seen almost immediately. But as quickly as they came, they faded away. 

Lasenia was horrified. He'd produced a panacea, to keep one eternally healthy. And it was being used so she could be eternally abused and eternally horny. But he was still just getting started.

“Stupid wench…” he purred, with a condescending affection, running his sharp, thick, shadowy fingers across his doll’s chin, like a pet. “The living can't take more than one brand at a time before breaking.” 

Lasenia recalled with unease how the Necromancer had simply shifted the princess’s spine-brand into a collar-brand; they were not simultaneous. 

“How many brands do you think this doll can handle?” The Necromancer mused with sultry anticipation. He gripped the corpse’s neck, and it began to sizzle all round with the same void-black smoke that had come off of its spine-brand. Necromancer removed his hand, and revealed that upon the body’s neck was a mind-breaking collar-brand– the same that had been used on the princess not minutes ago. Now, Doll-Lasenia had three brands, and they would not be the last.

"Even without the soul," mused the sorcerer, rubbing the amulet within which Lasenia's soul resided, "the brain remains." He flicked Doll-Lasenia's forehead, to no response but the same stupidly blank expression. "Without the soul, there’s no one truly behind this doll's eyes right now— no one to see through them. But the brain works the same, regardless.” 

The Necromancer’s hand made a motion, and Doll-Lasenia's expression contorted with pain. “Which means that within, there is a mind to BREAK.” 

The doll suddenly screeched out in agony, clutching its head. Lasenia within the amulet felt an intense distress at the piercing noise of her own body’s pained screech. Then it was over, all at once. The doll took in a breath, and a new expression settled on its face— a fluid, natural, living expression. It wasn’t being puppeteered anymore; its mind had been rewritten, just as the princess’s had. And it looked… happy. Disturbingly happy.

Lasenia, from within the amulet, looked on in horror, as she watched her own re-animated body smile sweetly for the Necromancer, before sinking slowly to her knees, spreading her thighs, holding her hands obediently together in front of her (in the process pushing her ample breasts outwards) and then sensually swaying both her hips and torso, perfectly synchronized as to make her breasts and ass dance gently together. 

“Hello, Sir!” the doll mewled, her gaze and voice overflowing with adoration. The doll still had her sultry, womanly tone of voice, but it now overflowed with innocent and sincerely sweet devotion to the Necromancer. “May I be of service to you in any way?” 

“That’s a good doll," the Necromancer praised, ignoring the doll’s question. He flexed his hand, and the doll's back flexed inward involuntarily— he could still puppeteer her movements manually, should he choose to. Her breasts were consequently pushed out and up towards him, and then her hands, also puppeteered, moved themselves beneath her large mammaries and held them up. The doll was being forced to present its teats for him. The doll’s confusion was soon replaced by another ditzy, genuine smile. Submissive and lustful, her face remained flushed pink with need and her nipples were perked up desperately, hard as pebbles. 

The Necromancer looked down at her with a condescending tilt of his head, before bringing down his leather backhand hard upon the tops of her breasts. 

"NNNG!!" she mewled out in pain. The doll's breasts jiggled maniacally and her pale skin bruised quickly. Yet moments later, the bruises glowed pink and faded away— and as they did, she gasped and moaned softly, the pink glow seeming to send an extra jolt of arousal through her body. Her panacea-brand was healing her again. She was the ideal sadist's-plaything. 

"Thank you, Master!!" she mewled, whilst having her poor breasts backhanded over and over. Her eyes were watering with pain, yet Doll-Lasenia’s brain was now programmed to feel overwhelmingly grateful to her owner for abusing her breasts. 

"How do you like your new self, little slut?" 

Willed by the Necromancer, the amulet's hum returned along with the true Lasenia's voice. Yet, she was speechless. Words could not describe the depths of her hatred for this man, for the grotesque perversity he had imposed so unceremoniously upon her re-animated body. If there had ever existed anything more diametrically opposed to ‘honor,’ ‘respect,’ ‘dignity,’ ‘pride,’ it must have been this— the depraved and absolute ownership the Necromancer had exacted, not only over Lasenia’s corpse, but over Lasenia herself. 

“I—”

“I love it~!” purred Doll-Lasenia’s sweet yet womanly voice. Her butt bounced excitedly on her heels, only exacerbating the feverish jiggling of her breasts.

Lasenia within the amulet, felt immediately enraged at this perverse wench of herself responding for her, and further angered (with a twinge of embarrassment) upon realizing the Necromancer may not have been asking her— the real Lasenia— to begin with. Yet before she could say another word, his fingers snapped and her chance to speak was lost as the crystal’s hum went silent once again.

“But of course you do.” He gently held the toy’s head before giving her a brutal slap across the face. Again, pleasure seemed to seep in through the pain, despite her whimpering. She looked up at him again with vacant eyes, a deep blush and a wide smile; on top of that, a dribbling stream of drool, absentmindedly ran from her agape mouth down her bruised face (which, with a pink glow, healed itself back to her usual flawless, porcelain complexion not a moment later) and onto her exposed DD cups. 

Having had her dignity raped and rights stripped away from her left Lasenia’s sense of self already crumbling, watching this man make of her body a brainless sex doll only exacerbated this deterioration, as the inevitable pressure of helplessness seeped into her psyche.

The Necromancer had far from finished, however. He stepped ominously towards his doll and began to unwrap the tight bindings round his fist. They burned away into golden flames, and beneath them was gauntlet of a hand—sharp, hard, and with a manly delineation across the back, not to mention clawed and silhouetted— made of the thickest of shadows. Whatever this man was, he wasn’t a normal human anymore. He was beyond that. And this monster had its claws on Lasenia’s succulent body. The thick liquid-shadow hand grazed down between her breasts, slivers and wisps of shadow warm and viscous, sizzling off him and licking at Lasenia’s bare skin. “Nnng…~” the doll whined licentiously. Contact with the shadows felt like a steaming syrup of concentrated hedonic lust. It sent ripples of sinful heat through her body, her nipples perking up yet harder and her pussy visibly twitching with excitement. The hand trailed over the doll’s navel before resting above her pussy. Shadows burned and flickered over her bush, and trailed down further— once his hand had pressed on past the hair and rested its fingers upon her lips, the bush had been burned away into a perfectly trimmed heart shape. 

“Who’s my stupid fucking wench?” The Necromancer’s fingers of silhouetted liquid lust seeped into Lasenia’s pussy lips, making them throb desperately with need.

“LASENIA is, Sir…” the doll moaned obediently, in her sultry voice. Her pussy twitched and flexed in anticipation of his fingers inside of her, dripping its warm honey from its reddened lips, down her pale thighs. Lasenia couldn’t stand to watch the humiliating display of female debauchery.

“She isn’t. ‘Lasenia’ is what they called that vapid excuse for a sorceress. ‘Sorceress-King,’” the man growled menacingly. “An arrogant little cunt didn’t belong at the peak of the pyramid. So I killed her.” 

Lasenia, within the amulet, felt his words wash over her. It was a stark reminder that she was practically dead now. Just minutes ago, she had owned the world, and now, her pussy was lewdly begging for his fingers with its dripping and clenching, whilst her soul was forced to watch from afar.

“But you know your place. You’ll make better use of the air she breathed.” The broad man’s thick and enchanting fingers pressed with cruel force between her lips, the shadows’ warmth flickering upon her clit. She broke out a yelp. “You licentious harlot. You deserve a name fit for your drippy cunt. You are Licentia.”

In that instant his fingers penetrated her naked cunt, and as if on command, the doll orgasmed. Her eyes rolled back, she fell forward onto her hands, and her voice uncontrolled let out a toe-curling scream of a moan— the moan of a true whore, stupidly emptyheaded and lost in the passions of her sin.

“ThankyouohsoverymuchSir~” the slave-woman slurred mid-orgasm. And as her pussy clenched tighter than it ever had round his void-fingers, a fourth brand began to sizzle into existence, round her navel. Its design— intricate and heretically edgy like the others— depicted a heart-shape surrounding the navel, atop where the woman’s womb would be.

The Necromancer pulled his fingers from her wet pussy, his silhouette hand then magically re-wrapping itself. But Licentia remained on the ground, on her knees, leaning forward onto her arms with her back bent in and her large breasts hanging— it seemed her natural position now. Then, with a snap of his fingers, Licentia’s new brand took effect. Her orgasm didn’t cease; her toes curled and her fingers bent. Her voice broke and cracked as she whined, tears of pure ecstasy streaming down her face. In fact, it seemed the orgasm wasn’t subsiding, nor dulling, but building, like an unending crescendo, as if the musician playing the notes of her orgasm simply kept rising through the keys of an endless clavichord.

“Why don’t you join in the fun, little girl?”

Only as the Necromancer removed the crystal from his neck did Lasenia realize the man had been addressing her— that he was about to place her back into the whore-doll ‘Licentia.’ As the crystalline amulet fit itself perfectly into the navel, Lasenia’s consciousness rushed like a torrent back into the doll, allowing her to experience the full breadth of this monstrous, swelling orgasm. Although she, herself, could not make the cadaver scream, nor influence her actions in any way for that matter, the soulless, obedient Licentia did not need that woman’s assistance to ‘express,’ in her voice, her thoughts on the hellishly intense pleasure emanating from her crotch.

“MNNGMGMNHGH…” the mind-broken doll shrieked, drool running over her chin and dribbling down onto her breasts, which themselves danced like a gelatin dessert, lewdly animated by Licentia’s perverse trembling and convulsions. Though these were not Lasenia’s whorish cries, they might as well have been. For she felt every inch of the same horribly-overstimulating sensations. She felt the wetness of the body’s cunt which dripped down into a shameful puddle on the ground, as if it were her own wetness. She felt the harsh, almost-painful pulsing and swelling of blood in the doll’s labia and erect nipples. She thought herself of a strong will, and yet, she felt her focus blurring away and her thoughts scattered. Her own vision crossed and blurred vacantly, as her womanly lust swept the coherence out of her brain. She felt the painful resonance of her vocal cords, screaming out without restraint their beautiful whore’s-song, and slowly tapering off as all the strength left her body and voice. And she felt as Licentia’s arms and thighs trembled weakly and gave way, no longer able to support even the weight of her own body, and leaving the silly wench to fall face first into the ground, her breasts squished down beneath her chest like lewd pillows. 

As the doll laid there prone, her voice nothing more than a weak, broken and strained whimper, her hips still jutted; for the orgasm hadn’t subsided. Not even slightly— in fact, since it had began, the climax had grown threefold. Additionally, consequence of the panacea which the Necromancer had dripped into the corpse’s breast, Licentia’s body seemed incapable of depleting itself either; which meant, as this unnatural and unending orgasm continued to torment the doll, Lasenia and Licentia could feel both pairs of lips continuously dribbling endless streams of saliva and shameful fluids into the puddles beneath her, which themselves had already spread embarrassingly far. It was as if her body was now a bottomless wellspring of bodily fluids. Both Licentia’s already-broken and whorishly-molded mind, and Lasenia’s intact mind, were straining under the long minutes of obscene ecstasy. Even the most willful and focussed mind would be clouded, made stupid and thoughtless, under the reign of such an insurmountable bliss.

“This is why you suffer for me.” The Necromancer squatted beside the wench, placing his large hand on the plump and voluptuous cheek of her behind. “Because you’re a stupid, sinful animal. Because you’re a woman, with a woman’s cunt. You’re unfit for any position, any job or role, worthy of respect. Your purpose, the only purpose of a drenched and leaking cunt, such as yourself, is as a toy for men’s sexual satisfaction, and as whatever else I decide to make of you. And I will make something of you.” 

As Lasenia’s pleasure-addled brain barely registered his words, a single thought managed to formulate— “Is this not ‘making something of me?’ What other unthinkable horrors and perversions must he have in store for me?” 

“You must be so pleased to have a man finally claim your lowly ass, woman. Where are your manners?” A sharp and violent S L A P struck the doll’s ass, which in turn, replied with a joyful jiggle. Within the sea of bliss in which she drowned, Lasenia felt a twinge of dread, unable to control the response she could sense Licentia was about to utter.

“THHHANK YHOU SSSIRR!” Licentia screamed, her cunt flexing and tightening horribly, as she did, squeezing out one last little spurt of her lewd fluids. “Good woman. Now calm your stupid little cunt.” The Necromancer gave her another sharp slap on her soft behind, and just like that the monster-orgasm finally faded; he blew it out like a candle. 

By the leg, the sorcerer took her, lifting the doll, lewd and profaned, heel over head. Her other leg hung down loosely, spreading the indignant sorceress’s glistening vulva open. “You must thank that heathen’s brand upon your womb, for granting your Master such freedom in rewarding your woman-body.” He lifted the hanging corpse-doll further, bringing the left of her nipples up to the mouth of his mask, and kissed it with only the gentlest of touches, before doing the same for the other. Trapped within, an absolutely disoriented Lasenia had no choice but to feel as each of her nipples blossomed into an unbelievably fiery flower of sensitivity. After being touched, even just the very air upon the doll’s nipple was enough to send streaks of hot, lusty magma to the ends of her body. “AEUGH!” she screamed out, tensing up and flexing like the pathetically lusty animal she was.

The nude Licentia’s eyes darted to Necromancer’s hand, to the thick and dangerous daggers he had for fingers. They trailed menacingly up her abdomen before tracing the pronounced curve of her ample breast. As the blossoming lust of the nipples faded, Lasenia’s focus tightened narrowly around the man’s paw, as it neared her erect little flowers again. Closer, so close…

And then her consciousness rushed out of the body, as the amulet pulled itself back into position as the Necromancer’s jewelry. 

“Wha—” the crystal hummed in Lasenia’s voice. And then, now removed from Licentia, the sorceress could do nothing but watch on as the Necromancer violently pinched the doll’s nipple, sending her visibly into a whorish frenzy— her muscles spasmed, her cunt flexed hysterically, and the woman’s mature voice screamed out a ridiculously whorish wail of a moan. Licentia had been given the privilege of an agonizing orgasm from the abuse of her lust-cursed nipples. The man then dropped his sex-doll onto the floor to enjoy her orgasm, which didn’t disturb it in the slightest.

It took Lasenia a moment to recompose herself, transitioning from constant erotic stimulation to zero tactile sensory input within her crystal. Soon, more clearheaded, however, she realized that, up until the moment the crystal had been removed, the Necromancer’s cruel claws nearing her exposed and sensitive nipple hadn’t frightened her— she hadn’t even been somewhat repelled. No; she had been CRAVING his fingers. She’d been waiting with bated breath, desperate for him to really hurt her nipples. Lasenia looked on at the visage of herself spasming, moaning, wetting the floor. She was horrified with herself.

“You wish that were you, don’t you, whore?” The Necromancer held the crystal tenderly in his hand, and she felt trapped in knowing that he was right. “It will be soon. Let us grant her some final gifts.” 

Lasenia feared what ‘gifts’ could mean. 

The Necromancer paced slowly around the nude Licentia, as she began to settle down, before giving her a swift kick in the side, aligning her with him. She cried out in pain, but the pain sizzled away into a delighted moan, as the bruise healed itself just as before. The man rubbed his hands together, so rapidly they began to sizzle. At first, one would think the smoke was from the friction, and not his heretical sorcery. 

The Necromancer knelt down over the wench, who in turn smiled vacantly up at him. He flicked his fingers and her chest jutted upwards, puppeteered so brusquely by the motion, that her breasts bounced around to calm themselves. Then, after adjusting the cuffs of his sleeve first, in one swift, animalistic motion, he lunged and gripped both of the pushed-out teats. The smoke sizzled into them, seeping into their pores and making Licentia gasp, as yet another brand seared itself into her skin. “Hhh—!”

The man removed his claws, and lo-and-behold, upon Licentia’s large, round breasts, a new brand was slithering into place— intricate, spiralling, thorned vines, running and curving beautifully around her voluptuous breasts, until meeting at each nipple, where a branded crown of rose petals blossomed mid-areola outwards. They curved cooperatively around the heart-brand he had left over her heart, where he had previously dripped his panacea.

“Good woman-doll. Go on, test out your new pillows whilst I complete you.”

Then, as if conducting an orchestra, his hands motioned Licentia into the air as easily as a flower, and as ridiculously as a ragdoll. He’d left her in a position as if bent at the waist over some unseeable table in the air; her bottom was raised to the sorcerer’s eye level, and additionally her legs were split perfectly and apart, curving her bubble-cheeks nicely up. 

From her current angle being worn upon her captor’s neck, Lasenia could see her own breasts hanging lewdly downwards. She could see the moment the rose thorn tattoos began to twist and shift on Licentia’s chest. She’d always had a large and proud DD-cup chest— visibly juicy, plump, and tight— yet fluid. But now, her hanging nipples began to reach further and further down as her breasts filled up with more fat, plumping not to unreasonably large proportions, but simply to the perverted edge of what could be considered a natural woman’s body. They were overflowing with obscenity— they’d grown to a doll-like size, though they had maintained their tight roundness and visibly gelatinous softness. They must’ve been the size of small pumpkins— nearly that of watermelons, and certainly each larger than Licentia’s head.

Though Lasenia looked on in dejection at what her perfect, sacred body was becoming, Licentia smiled warmly and curiously, and began swaying her teats back and forth beneath her, making them jiggle to an entertaining extent. She experimented with her new perversely voluptuous, unrivaled cleavage, slapping each mound of softness aggressively about, pressing and squishing them together, and bouncing back and forth, up and down as best as she could— followed by soft and airy little giggles. She looked like the pathetic incarnation of a patriarchy’s perfect woman-as-sex-object; obscene, stupid, and— worst of all— painted across her face was… pure bliss.

“Aeeei!” Licentia whimpered out, as the Necromancer’s violent hands, burning with shadows, slammed down on the both of her round cheeks. “Nnnng…” Whimpers devolved into moans, as the darkness seeped into her skin, into her pores, into her holes as well perhaps— as a treat. Once his hands were lifted, they had left themselves marked upon her buttocks: a single, enormous, heretically designed inverted-heart— the curves of the heart lining up with her undercheeks, and the heart curving round the hips and bottom to meet sharply up at her lower-back dimples. 

One could tell by her moaning that Licentia could feel the brane do its magic and expand her cheeks. They verged on ridiculously perverse in how large and bubbly they filled out to– plumping up the heart tattoo as well and accentuating her hips and thighs around them. Prior, Licentia's cheeks had been nicely curved and had a good jiggle— but that’s not what the Necromancer’s perfect wife-doll would look like. And so, moaning as her behind and the curves around it inflated to whorish proportions Licentia was ultimately made to have the body “lewd enough as to remind it always what a ridiculous little sex doll it is.” 

The Necromancer dropped Licentia from the air onto her bouncy behind. She looked back over her shoulder, and smiled wide with a blush of innocent excitement on her face. Her behind was enormous— though not unrealistically so—with a round and tight shape to it.

“For the final touch,” the Necromancer growled in his deep, gravelly voice. He flicked his fingers and Licentia’s tongue forcefully hung itself out of her mouth. He squeezed it between his pitch-black-smoking fingers, letting the void seep into her tongue— to her contentment, as her eyes subsequently rolled back in pleasure whilst her face flushed with arousal. Into her tongue was seared her final brand: a vagina design, with cute labia and a clit at the very back, had been tattooed onto the tongue. As the Necromancer let go of her tongue, her thin lips began to plump up gently. They did not look ridiculously large, but instead plump, succulent, perfect soft pillows for fitting a penis between them— and beautifully glossy and pink, as well.

 As these lips plumped up, though, she felt her lower lips suddenly swell up— her vagina was doing the same. The outer labia were puffing up all cute and pink and soft, and tightening over the inner labia, obscuring them, leaving her pussy looking unused, cute, tight, and plump for the fucking. It wasn’t only looks though; Licentia’s jaw hung open and she moaned out, as she felt her insides begin to shift and clench tightly. Her inner pussy, her inner asshole and her throat had all tightened up into perfect, snug cock-tunnels.

Upon the heretically re-animated woman-body of Lasenia, the Necromancer now had seared seven brands of separate functions: 

First, her spinal-brand, a jagged spine design from her lower-back dimples to her nape, through which he could forcibly puppeteer her body— even lifting her into air. 

Second, her heart-brand, a heart design with a cross-stitch down the middle placed over her heart, where the Necromancer had dripped the panacea which constantly rejuvenated her saliva and vaginal fluids and which constantly healed any wound— pleasuring her whilst doing so. 

Third, her collar-brand, a jagged thorny design ending in a heart on her throat, through which he melted down and reforged her mind. 

Fourth, her navel-brand, a heart shape around her navel and trailing down her pubic area, through which he could control her lust, her body’s arousal responses, and her orgasms. 

Fifth, her chest-brand, a thorny-vined design weaving round her breasts and ending on roses round the nipples, through which he changed the fullness and tightness of his doll’s breasts. 

Sixth, her buttocks-brand, a single large upside-down heart with each curve round the bottom of a cheek and the point meeting at her lower back dimples, through which he changed the fullness and tightness of her cheeks and thighs, as well as the width of her hips. 

And finally, her tongue-brand, a detailed black pussy design stretching from the tip of her tongue to the back, through which he could puff up both her mouth lips and pussy lips, as well as tighten all three of her holes.

So there sat Licentia. Mere hours ago, she’d been the most powerful woman known across all horizons. She’d had a soul; Lasenia. She’d had an enchantingly tight robe, and perfectly tied-up hair, and beautiful-yet-sinister, dark-hued makeup upon her face. She’d been advancing her most promising of studies, the control of her kidnapped princess’s will. Now? The princess had been left a stupid sex-kitten and sent back to her family. Lasenia’s own soul had been ripped from her body, and her body re-animated into a lewd, misogynistic-nightmare of a ‘wife-doll.’ It was seated on the floor completely in the nude, her weight resting on her newly-watermelon-sized asscheeks and her HH-cupped breasts spilling lewdly off her chest– each larger than her head. Her hair messily fell down over breasts, her makeup stained down her face from the tears, her pubic bush had been burned away into a cute, trim little heart, and she was covered neck to ass in heretical tattoos, each with a distinct, mortifying feature. Both her sets of lips were lewdly puffed up, all three of her penetrable orifices were tightened up, and she could be physically abused, violently, mercilessly, without the slightest restraint, without fear of death or injury. She was the misogynistic sadist’s perfect toy woman. All this, and yet upon her face rested a warm, docile smile.

“Perfect,” the man boomed, a dark after-whisper shaking through the room. He outstretched his shadowy hand, and Licentia was lifted onto her feet, arms extended to her sides as if she really were a stringed-up puppet. Without warning, her face turned hot red with lust— she could feel her tummy fluttering with white-hot, blissful butterflies, making her pussy dampen quickly and her nipples harden. The shadows from his flexing fingers filled the air like music, and to it, Licentia began to dance like a puppet. She swayed and twirled and hopped and bent, accentuating and bouncing and jiggling and throwing her chest through the air, enticingly swaying her round behind about. Halfway through her clumsy dance, however, the Necromancer snapped his fingers and Licentia screamed out in debilitating arousal. Her hips bucked and her cunt wet itself, making a cute mess of her thick thighs. Her knees trembled as she orgasmed. She would’ve fallen to the ground, but the puppet-dance carried her itself, so she was forced to sway and frolic lewdly around, even as her voice announced her orgasm and her body succumbed to it.

Then, she arrived at the Necromancer; she plopped onto her toes before him, leaning playfully forward at the hips with her hands held politely behind her back; her huge, pillowy ass was pushed back beautifully and her HH cups hung and swung down beneath her heaving chest. All the while, she made perfect eye contact with her Master, even if she was crying tears of ecstasy and had a blank, lust-brained gaze, and had her jaw hung open with another dribble of mindless drool running off her chin, whilst she breathed hot and heavy breaths out. 

Immediately, he reached down, shoved two fingers up into Licentia’s tightened, orgasm-dripping cock tunnel, and picked her entire body up into the air by just that— at the same time letting go of his puppeteering hold of her, letting her impale herself naturally onto his fingers.

“NNNNGH!” the stupid, mind-broken woman blurted out. See, her hypersensitive, hyper-tight post-orgasm cunt reacted quite predictably upon having its plump, dripping lips stretched out by the Necromancer’s horribly thick, rough, and shadowy hands; she came instantly and her insides squeezed horribly around his fingers. 

Licentia was simply gone now— nobody was home but a stupid, overstimulated, cumming whore. Her breasts jiggled around happily, as she pressed her chest against the Necromancer— and again when he took her by the throat, took his fingers out of her, and held her from there instead. Just having the horribly violent grip bruising her throat meant she was being healed at an equal rate. The asphyxiation and the built-in lust sent her into her third orgasm in the past minute— just like that. 

Why? Lasenia had to ask herself— why was she not being allowed in the body? Why wasn’t she being FORCED to exist in it? Didn’t he want to break her, to humiliate her? Why was she being relegated to watching from the sidelines, as her captor desecrated and enjoyed her body? And why did she even have the urge— if ever so slight— to feel his torment? It disturbed her.

That said, perhaps equally as disturbing was watching the Necromancer, as he held Licentia from the throat, wave a snap around his canvas trousers, magically unbuttoning them, and letting his large penis fall out. It looked the same color as his actual skin at first— a deep tan— but then, as if on command, it grew within seconds to a much larger size, and then began to flicker and become enveloped by shadows, until it grew and hardened into an eleven-inch, large, rock solid, bumped and barbed beastly monstrosity. Then, with a wave of his hands, Licentia’s legs lifted up high and apart to her sides. And without warning, he dropped her— or better put, pushed her down by his grip on her throat, shoving the entire length brutally into Licentia’s thrice-orgasmed, absolutely drenched, red-and-puffy-with-need, perfectly tight cunt.

In response, the stupid, drooling Licentia’s eyes rolled back and she spat out some mindless cracked shriek as the impossibly-large, horribly-thick penis shoved itself balls-deep inside her. It stretched her labia and insides to the absolute limit— further, in fact; the seven-foot man’s cock must have been as thick as a fist. And he shouldn’t have been able to fit more than six or seven inches, nor his unreasonanke girth, inside of her. And yet, she stretched endlessly, her cunt gripping impossibly tight on the rock-hard cock— which he proceeded to shove up into her, bouncing his doll up and down on his length, both by his thrusts and his choking grip. She let out choked and pleasured squeals and her pathetic bouncing breasts danced happily up and down. With the thickness, depth, force, lust darkness and painful saw-like spikes and bumps of this man’s cock, she must’ve been half-unconscious from pleasure, pain, and consequent pain-fueled ecstasy of this horrible fucking. 

He let go of her throat, letting the orgasming woman breathe out a slutty scream, before seizing her by the breasts and ass. His clawed hand dug deep into her enormous asscheeks, and a finger shoved itself inside her asshole; whilst his other hand took her by a breast, gripping the fat underside and pinching the nipple, and pulling her body lewdly up by it. By these perverse handles, he threw his doll up and down on his cock, using the thing like a warm and loud Fleshlight. It was a miracle her pussy was not torn apart by the violent pounding; she could take it only because the panacea had made her body that much more flexible and durable. He gave her round mounds— chest and ass— nice, consistent slaps, leaving them burning red and desperately pushing out for more. Licentia had left her cleavage shimmering with saliva by now, which her Master helpfully rubbed into each breast with his groping. 

He used her like a toy for almost an entire hour, despite the fact that she'd orgasmed within the first few seconds and continued orgasmingb with the same rapidity— an excruciatingly wonderful experience for Licentia which left her poor body convulsing, if not limp, from the violation. Lasenia was being somewhat tortured as well, unable to even look away for this time, unable to close her eyes, sleep, or do anything to avoid this horrible sight of her own body’s ruining. 

As Licentia bounced lifelessly on his cock, her eyes completely clouded over from licentious overstimulation, the Necromancer finally allowed himself, with some final, slow, forceful thrusts, to pump his burning load up into his wife-doll’s waiting womb. Each pump overfilled her cock-tunnel and boiling semen came dripping and steaming out of her pussy. Then suddenly, upon her inner thigh right below her crotch, a tally mark appeared.

“Her first creampie,” the Necromancer growled with satisfaction, pulling his sword slowly out of her sheath. “To many more.” 

The limp Licentia, unsupported and released, fell to the floor again like a discarded toy, twitching, just barely. She was more than alive, but would need incredible rest just to recover from the brutal fucking— that is, if she had not the panacea running through her veins.

Suddenly, Lasenia felt her voice return, and immediately shrieked from her crystal, “WHY?! WHY KEEP ME. If I’m not going to reside in that hellish doll, just KILL me, already.” Why was she still alive? 

“I can break you whenever I want. I could make you BEG to live as Licentia should I choose to. Not yet. First, you shall witness what I do with ‘Lasenia’s’ reputation. Agreed?”

Lasenia’s heart dropped. She was already dead. She had nothing left, but the godly legacy of domination she’d left behind. If she disappeared now, that could be preserved. “I’ll live in the doll. I’ll suffer through the eyes of that perverted thing. Just please. Take me far away from this place, and leave my legacy b—”

S N A P. The crystal was silent. “Too many words for a stupid woman like yourself. Follow men’s direction more.” He turned down to Licentia now, who had been crawling her way up to sitting on her knees.

“Lasenia is far too respected for the large teated pig she was. Would you like to desecrate her reputation with me?”

“I would love to, Sir!” Licentia mewled, happy to agree with whatever her man suggested. He seemed pleased.

“Who’s my pretty doll-wife?” He swung his hand as if slapping air, and Licentia whimpered out in her cute, sultry voice— both her bottom cheeks and both her breasts jiggling as if they’d all been lewdly slapped by some invisible force simultaneously.

“Me!” she chirped cheerfully, through the whimper regardless, smiling vacantly up at her Master. 

“Good doll.” And so the crystal on the Necromancer’s neck let escape a little sob.

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