Reluctantly Rogue Pt. 02 Ch. 07

(Note: This is a long, ongoing story. It is a story with sex. It's a sexy story. It is in many ways a story about sex. But, it is not strictly a sex story. Many chapters may even be SFW.

This chapter is very much NSFW.)

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CHAPTER SEVEN

A Bath and a Bench

Allow me to collect your seed.

Those words hung long in Atyr's ears as he tried to decipher them. There was, of course, an obvious meaning, but the embarrassed young woodsman found himself utterly unwilling to acknowledge that she had just asked him to... well, to come inside her, it sounded like.

Then again, she had just half straddled his lap, all while talking about 'the creation of new life'. What other conclusion could he come to? His cock pressed up eagerly; that was one part of him at least that had no difficulty accepting the meaning of her words.

Wetlyn's implacable gaze remained fixed on him. "If that is an issue, we can discuss alternative methods of payment. Most young men would be eager at the opportunity to engage with me." She looked down at the outline of his penis, clearly defined in his pants, then locked her violet eyes back on his own. "Forgive me if I have misread your arousal."

Fates, she did mean it. He shook his head vigorously. "No! yes, I.. I mean I would love to-- You're very attractive, it's just--" He thought of Kella, dark eyes filled with laughter, pulling herself up to him in the stream, lips pressing soft against his own... "It's just, there's a woman in town..."

The witch nodded. "Understood. If you do not wish to provide me with your seed, we will discuss alternatives."

Atyr considered. He did have one piece of information which might be valuable to her, the quest offer from Gant. "Um, I think I know something which might be helpful to you."

Her gorgeous features remained unreadable. "And what is that?"

"If I tell you, will you let me go?"

"You are not my prisoner." When Atyr's eyes flicked down to his restrained wrists on the arms of the chair, she continued. "A brief story. This afternoon, a strange man, one apparently capable of slaying a troll, broke down a woman's door, forced his way into her home, and attempted to track her down where she hid from him upstairs. Fortunately, she was able to outwit the man, restraining him for her own safety."

Atyr considered that perspective on recent events, and found he couldn't much argue with it. His stomach twisted, and he fixed his eyes on his feet.

Wetlyn continued, resonant voice mild as ever. "I have not lived for over six score winters by taking chances with my life. My only use for young men such as yourself is as a source of a vital component. And occasionally pleasure. Neither use is satisfactory under duress. You may leave whenever you wish."

He nodded, not quite able to meet her eyes. Silence fell.

She spoke again. "I have freely provided you with such information as I have in the hope that it will aid you. Should you desire further assistance you would do well to demonstrate your willingness to make this relationship reciprocal."

Right. She hadn't held anything hostage from him, yet here he was trying to dangle important knowledge in front of her as something to be bargained for. He sucked on his lower lip, then looked up into her face. Say exactly what you mean. Don't try to hide things...

"In town, someone offered to pay me to get rid of you."

Her face betrayed no reaction. He couldn't tell if this came as a surprise to her or not.

"Who?" Her voice was as uninflected as ever.

Atyr didn't want to throw Gant to the wolves, or to the witch, as it were. Don't try to hide things... "Alright, first understand that he didn't seem to know what he had said to me. Pesky says he doesn't actually know anything abou--"

"I understand how immortals communicate their offers of employment to us."

"... Right. Well it was the innkeeper down in Woodstead, but again he--"

"I remember Gant Keppin. I am certain he would wish me gone, if he knew I were here, but I have no doubt he is innocent. Thank you."

Atyr nodded, hoping the exchange of information for information would be accepted as a fair trade. And apparently, it was.

"I will look into it. Am I to understand you wish now to leave?"

He shrugged, looking into her face imploringly. "Are you sure there's nothing I could do for you that you might need? I hate to leave without at least some hope for Bird, the old healer."

"I have expressed to you what I desire." She looked meaningfully between his legs. "If you are unwilling to assist me, I can think of no other use to which I might put you."

His cock responded eagerly to her glance, and he swallowed. "I... If I were to help you, would you be able to make something to let Bird talk to this devil? Helliot?"

She took note of the twitch in his pants. "I do not know. I would be more inclined to research possibilities."

Atyr lost himself in his thoughts momentarily, struggling between a sense of romantic loyalty to Kella, and his duty to correct for his error in making the deal with Helliot. It was obvious what the correct decision was: the unselfish decision, the decision with greater moral weight.

And... he couldn't lie to himself. This slender woman, all draped in close-clinging silks, with purple eyes and white-silver hair... she was truly the most beautiful person he could imagine. He tried to keep in mind that she had specifically crafted her appearance towards that end, and her true age, but it didn't matter. His mind wandered to just how she might want to 'collect his seed.' Inside her?... Inside her where?

"I'll do it." He had actually meant to say more, but his throat closed up as he spoke, and all thought of other words scattered into a nervous lust.

The witch nodded curtly, then turned away and walked around behind Atyr, out of his field of vision. He heard cabinet doors open and shut, then felt her trailing sleeves brush his shoulders as she clasped something cold and metal firmly about his neck.

She walked back in front of him. In her fingers, he saw a tiny stick of some sort, barely more than a splinter. It looked like ordinary wood.

She looked him up and down. "I will not touch you in your current state." Atyr looked at himself. He couldn't blame her. Grime and mold from the stone crevice, troll blood, his own blood: he wouldn't like to touch himself in this state either.

"I will release you now," she said. "In order that you might bathe before your orgasm." His cock leapt at the word. "Know that the collar around your neck holds contained within it a powerful magic detonation, one which you would not survive. That detonation is bound and restrained by this." She held up the sliver of wood. "Should I break this wood, I break what restrains the detonation."

Atyr found his arousal swiftly smothered by a cold chill. He held very still, then nodded.

"I have not lived my long years by being incautious."

He nodded again.

Holding the splinter in view between the fingers of one hand, she reached under the chair and released one of the metal cuffs with held Atyr in place. She stepped back.

"If you run your fingers under the arm of the chair, you will find a small lever. Pull it and you may release your other arm."

He followed her instructions in silence, moving slowly and cautiously.

"Good. Follow me." She lead him across the room, and into a small alcove, in the center of which an ornate, wooden tub stood, empty. She pulled a rope that hung along the wall, and steaming water began to pour into it from a spigot in the wall.

Atyr stared in amazement. "How...?"

"There is a cistern in the attic into which rain is collected. It is heated by a long-burning fire of my own design." He thought he could detect pride behind the flat delivery.

"Strip." Her voice was neutral as ever.

The young man hesitated. She looked at him calmly. "I am to bring you to orgasm shortly. Modesty is unreasonable."

Swallowing, he began removing his clothes with shaking hands. His cock stiffened further, pressing his pants firmly outward, ready to be freed. He unbuttoned his vest. Violet eyes stared into his, and he couldn't look away as he pulled the garment off and let it fall to the wood floor.

His hands went now to the laces of his shirt, fingers stumbling with the thin cord. Her eyes dropped to watch as the cloth opened across his chest, impassive, showing nothing of her thoughts. He lifted the shirt over his head, hands brushing the metal collar. The danger it represented sent a thrill through him.

The shirt joined the vest on the floor, and he glanced back at the witch. Her eyes were tracking slowly across his torso, carefully examining his thin form, lingering on the gentle shading of the muscles beneath the skin of his stomach. Was she aroused as well, or merely studying him?

Awkwardly, he kicked off his boots. Only the pants were left. Atyr hesitated, unsure how to proceed, and glanced at the tub. It was nearly half filled already. Looking back at the beautiful woman barely an arms length in front of him, he found her eyes on his face once more.

She tugged again on the rope, and the splashing of the water stopped. A deep quiet fell over the room, disturbed only by Atyr's unsteady breaths. She said nothing, only stared.

Biting his lip, he nodded once. His hands went to the laces of his pants, and he began to untie them, the fabric sagging as the cord loosened, allowing his hard cock to push further outward. Her eyes dropped to the protruding bulge, at the tip of which a tiny wet mark was beginning to form. Atyr turned away, hooking his thumbs into the waistband, and made to pull the pants down.

"Face me." Her sudden command stopped his hands dead, sending a thrill through him. Slowly, he turned back and met her eyes. Her face still showed nothing, but her eyes snapped down and locked onto his cock as it bounced free.

She gestured to the tub. "Bathe."

Atyr got in. The water was hot against his skin. He began to sit but again her voice brought him up short. "No. Stand."

She handed him a rough cloth from a shelf beside her, then stood back, face emotionless. Atyr stood a moment in uncertainty, then dipped the cloth into the water, and began to scrub his skin clean. She followed his hands closely as he washed first his face, then shoulders, back, and chest.

He watched her as she watched him. All the while, she held the splinter of wood up between them: the tiny sliver that held his life. When he reached his stomach, her face didn't move, but he saw a brief tension in her throat as she swallowed slightly. Perhaps he wasn't the only one aroused. A pleasurable confidence began to fill him, and he took extra time now, making sure ever part of his stomach was clean, tensing his muscles, watching her for any other reaction. Nothing more.

Slowly, he began to wash his hips, then his thighs, eyes locked on her placid face. He couldn't be sure, but he thought her gaze had widened slightly. Wetting the cloth once more, he raised it, making as though to wash his straining cock, then stopped. Now he saw it for certain: for a fraction of a moment, her lips had parted.

He turned away from her, denying her view of his arousal, and washed his ass, first one cheek and then the other, flexing the strong muscles there as he did. He knew her eyes would be fixed on him. Facing her again, he dipped the cloth and held it, water trickling from between his fingers.

"Wetlyn," he said. Her eyes lingered on his penis, then blinked, slowly raising to meet his own.

"Yes?" Her voice was flat as ever, no tremble, no unsteady tone betraying her. A century of practice, he recalled.

He smiled at her, then slowly wrapped the warm, dripping cloth around his shaft. The hot pressure of it broke his own tenuous composure, but he was rewarded by a small intake of breath from the woman.

He began to stroke, making certain to be as thorough as could be desired. More thorough, even. Her features relaxed, just for an instant, lips parting, brows lifting. Atyr wrapped a second hand around himself now, below the first, and continued his motion, up and down, up and down. The heat against the thin skin of his cock was incredible, and her eyes on him only intensified his arousal. If he wasn't careful, he was going to waste that 'seed' she wanted right here, into the hot water.

Wetlyn swallowed a second time, a tiny motion, almost undetectable, then her face reset, fully composed once more. She looked away from his cock and the hands working it.

"That is sufficient. Let us return."

Atyr grinned. Sufficient. No matter how stoic she fancied herself, he'd seen enough to know better. He let the cloth fall away, baring all to the cool air of the tower. She indicated a larger towel on the shelf.

"Dry yourself and meet me in the other room." As she left, a grey mist-form drifted out of her back: a blurred shadow of her. A nude shadow. It flashed across the chamber and vanished inside him with the now-familiar sensation of warmth and accomplishment. Atyr tilted his head. He wasn't certain what about the situation here had granted him experience, but he wasn't about to complain. He checked his arm. The grey circle was over half filled.

Drying himself quickly, he hesitated at the door. He couldn't put his filthy garments back on, but should he wrap the towel around himself, or stride out as he was? He smiled. Modesty wasn't really possible anymore. Dropping the towel to the floor, he re-entered the room.

Wetlyn was waiting for him, standing calmly by a low stone bench. He approached her, uncertain how to proceed, and glanced down. Two steel restraints, like those on the chair, were affixed to the stone. He looked back to the witch, a question in his eyes.

She pointed at the bench. "You will lock one of your wrists firmly in a restraint. I will secure the other."

"Even with this, you still don't trust me?" He touched the metal collar, attempting a flirtatious smile.

"Oblige me." Her voice brooked no argument.

Atyr blinked, but knelt on the floor, placing his left arm on the stone. He closed the steel restraint on its hinges, feeling it lock firmly into place, and looked up at her. Still holding the thin piece of wood, she bent down and locked tight his other arm. Then, she reached to the back of his neck, and unclasped the collar. She placed collar and splinter beside him on the stone, a reminder of the dangers, potential and unknown, of the woman he was with.

"So..." He stared at his hands, immobile in their metal cuffs. "How do we... you know, with me like this?" He was kneeling on the floor, hands locked to the stone bench, with his aching cock twitching between his legs.

The witch eyed him dispassionately, then knelt beside him. Placing her warm hand on the bare skin of his lower stomach, she applied gentle pressure upwards.

"Stand." He blinked, not sure what was about to happen, but obeyed. Straightening his legs put him in an awkward, and utterly exposing position. Bent over at the waist, arms fixed to the low bench, hard cock pointed at the floor. His cheeks began to burn.

"This position is the most efficient, I find." He watched her enticing form as she walked across the room to the cabinet with all the vials, selected one, and returned to where he stood, bent and restrained. She placed a foot between his ankles, kicking them apart gently to spread his legs.

She knelt beside him once again and placed the wide mouthed bottle on the bench.

"I will begin." Another statement that was actually a question. Atyr's face was hot with embarrassment, but he was shaking all over with the tingling heat in his stomach. He closed his eyes and nodded.

"Good." Warm, smooth hands wrapped themselves firmly around the tight skin of his shaft, squeezing slightly. Atyr felt a drop of pre-cum force its way out in response. He moaned softly.

The cool voice came from beside him. "This will take some time." What was left of his composure broke as one palm rubbed across the tip, gathering the sticky lubricant that was accumulating there. She grasped him again, squeezing once more, rolling her fingers in her grip to massage him. He was almost unbearably sensitive.

The other hand, still wrapped around him, began to stroke lightly up and down his length, from base to tip, long, rapid motions that brought him swiftly closer and closer to release. Already he felt his balls tighten and his cock swell harder, the cum building inside him. Her hands worked faster, a slick fury of motion, driving him to the edge as he stood bent over with his head pressed between his forearms on the stone bench. His breath came in gasps now, and his hips began to thrust forward as the orgasm built-- and then, nothing.

Her hands were gone from him, his cock free in the air beneath him, bouncing between his thighs. A moan of frustration ripped from his chest, and he raised his head to look behind.

Wetlyn was still kneeling there. Her eyes were fixed on his twitching erection. She seemed not to notice him watching her. The twinges of the abandoned orgasm still rippled through his core, as she reached up again, this time grasping his balls, massaging them.

Now she looked to him. "I need a sizable amount. I find that prolonging the experience in this manner increases production." Her eyes slid back to his cock, which now drooled a long, sticky string of clear fluid.

After a moment, her hand shifted back to his shaft, where it was joined by the other. This time, she began hard, pumping him in and out of her fists. She was aggressive, furious.

Atyr's eyes squeezed shut, and let the sensation of the slick palms milking his cock overwhelm him. Heat rolled through and about his body, and in moments he was again on the verge of coming.

She stopped, leaving him throbbing in the cool air once more, and her hand returned to his balls. A whimper leaked its way between his parted lips, and his head dropped to the cold stone. His knees shook violently.

Then she was wrapped around him once more; she was fucking him with her hands. Helpless to resist even had he wanted, he thrust back into her, filled with the hot pressure, the need for release. Yet again, as the waves of pleasure began to fill him, she let go, returning to her gentle squeezing of his balls. She let him wait longer, cooling down, rubbing first one testicle, then the other between her fingers, as though trying to force more cum out of them.

Again and again she brought him to the edge and left him there. Whether it was a dozen times or two dozen or more he couldn't have said. The intervals became shorter and shorter, until at last he was bucking into the air even when her hands were off him, and the slightest touch would bring the orgasm bubbling back up through him.

And then she let him go.

She grabbed the vial swiftly from the bench, and forced it over the tip of his leaking cock, her other hand a blur on his shaft, pounding against his lower stomach with each slick motion. His mind went white as the heat washed through him a final time and the cum shot forth.

Spent, shaking, and unable to think, Atyr collapsed and slumped to the floor, draped against the stone block to which he was locked.

Wetlyn stood primly, and walked away with the vial of his cum. He wasn't sure what she did with it then, and he didn't particularly care. In a moment, she was back at the bench beside him, her voice clear and business like.

"Thank you. It has become increasingly difficult to find suitable sources as I have drifted ever further from human society. And in my age, I require more frequent ministrations.

"I have some clothing that I believe should fit you, to some approximation. What you were wearing was not fit to be worn again. When you are dressed, we will collect your belongings from the cellar, and I will escort you from the tower."

Barely making sense of her words, Atyr nodded his head against the bench, eyes closed. Sleep, he only wanted sleep. He relaxed further against the cold stone, hoping she would give him a while to recover.

But it was not to be.

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Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed the scene as much as Atyr did.

-Scrybells