The Warlock and the Whore

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It's been cen­turies since the now Head­mas­ter of the Tem­ple of Aquar­ius was ini­ti­at­ed as a schol­ar of the Black Arts...

Back then, he was con­sid­ered by many as the most beau­ti­ful and most de­sir­able of all hu­man males, but time is every­one's mas­ter, in­clud­ing the Al­chemists, whose main weapon in com­bat is their dis­arm­ing erot­ic ap­peal. Just a glimpse be­yond a Al­chemist's robe would stun any heav­i­ly ar­mored brute in an in­stant! The most mer­ci­less archer wouldn't be able to lift his hand to pierce this de­light­ful flesh, and even mages of oth­er schools will be too speech­less to chant their de­struc­tive spells.

But all that was in the past for our War­lock now... He had grown way too old, his blond hair was now com­plete­ly white. But his wis­dom was bound­less and his soul... his soul was black! In the most an­cient of the world's li­braries he had found the black­est and most evil tomes, he sum­moned back the spir­its of the deads to learn their se­crets, and went be­yond to the as­tral planes to find all the in­gre­di­ents but nowhere could he find the Main one.

He went back to the mor­tal realm, al­most ready to give up, but as he walked by some ran­dom el­ven broth­el, he sud­den­ly saw Her! The ul­ti­mate in­gre­di­ent he couldn't find even in the deep­est realms of Hell.

As the plan­ets aligned, the War­lock con­duct­ed a ma­jor gath­er­ing in the woods. Well paid ac­ro­bats con­tort­ed their young lithe bod­ies by the fires of sin, chal­leng­ing the flames with their own so­phis­ti­cat­ed oiled curves and folds. Busty teen witch­es with in­hu­man­ly tight­ly belt­ed waists con­tin­u­ous­ly chant­ed their sweet black spells of wrath and blas­phe­my. Mus­cled dev­ils and slen­der imps sum­moned di­rect­ly from In­fe­ria, danced as black sil­hou­ettes right in the high flames, to keep their bod­ies warm in the sum­mer of the mor­tal realm that was warm for hu­mans but still too cold for demons, too used to the heat of In­fe­ria.

The War­lock ar­rived to the great par­ty to­geth­er with the beau­ti­ful young el­ven Whore, whose per­fect tanned bust im­me­di­ate­ly be­came the cen­ter of the world. Damn, was she ex­pen­sive, on­ly three huge purs­es of gold, enough to open her very own broth­el, con­vinced her to serve the white haired old man who was sev­er­al cen­turies old...

If on­ly she could have known that this old mage would hap­pen to be so in­tense, with so much in­ner en­er­gy saved up! She had lit­er­al­ly nev­er had a night like that in her en­tire ca­reer, so even a pro like her was com­plete­ly drained of all sta­mi­na. When she re­gained her sens­es, she could im­me­di­ate­ly feel it was still on­go­ing. The fuck... She was on her tum­my so the first thing she saw was not the white-haired old­ster but the sur­round­ings. It was dawn, all the bendy boys were sleep­ing, curled up around their beau­ti­ful wasp-waist­ed com­pan­ions, the demons were long gone to their own hot di­men­sions, the na­ture around was pure and beau­ti­ful, it was calm and al­most silent, not count­ing the few voic­es of the first morn­ing birds and the pant­i­ng of the mage be­hind her.

Though there was some sig­nif­i­cant change about that pant­i­ng that made her in­stant­ly look be­hind. The sight was so fan­tas­tic that she de­cid­ed ei­ther she's in a dream right now, or the whole thing of the past night was a night­mare. Be­cause now on top of her sweat­ing body was lay­ing not a se­nile man but a most gor­geous young­ster! Even by el­ven stan­dards he pos­sessed in­cred­i­ble beau­ty, and on­ly his soft silky hair falling on her shoul­der blades was just as white as the old War­lock's.

As he no­ticed her wak­ing up, he sealed a kiss on her smooth tanned shoul­der: "My apolo­gies, elf, but the rit­u­al is not yet fin­ished. I might re­quire an­oth­er cou­ple of hours of your ser­vice. I can of­fer an­oth­er purse of gold if re­quired." He spoke half-whis­per­ing, al­most pant­i­ng, ap­par­ent­ly hav­ing dif­fi­cul­ties talk­ing while climb­ing to a yet an­oth­er peak of ec­sta­sy of the many he had al­ready con­quered tonight.

"Gosh," the slut mur­mured. "Screw the gold, just let me turn around so I can look at the pret­ty­boy you are!" They changed po­si­tions and the War­lock was now star­ing at her big boobs that rolled slight­ly to the sides of her slen­der chest. She, in turn, couldn't stop star­ing at how young his face looked now! "W- what... What hap­pened to your face and body?!"

He stroked his own smooth face with his fin­gers. "Oh my, so it's al­ready fin­ished! I thought it was still on­ly half-way through. Then, I sup­pose, I wouldn't re­quire any fur­ther ser­vice at this point."

"Wa- wa- wait a minute! Wait! It's Sat­ur­day, right?" she looked at the ris­ing Sun as if it was a cal­en­dar. "I'm usu­al­ly of­fer­ing dis­counts and bonus­es on Sat­ur­days! So... use your chance, you get two whole hours for free!" She slut­tish­ly mas­saged her big boobs, pulling the most invit­ing fa­cial ex­pres­sion she could.

"Oh? That's quite the op­po­site of what you told me last evening, dar­ling..." The mage spoke still in the tone of an old man, al­though his voice was so much younger and def­i­nite­ly much, much sex­i­er.

"Well, I just..." The Whore re­al­ly wish she could take her com­pli­ment about his face back in her mouth and shove it as deep as pos­si­ble in her throat so it wouldn't come out any time soon. "Eeh, I for­got it was Sat­ur­day!" she pout­ed, giv­ing him in­no­cent eyes, then quick­ly whis­pered to her­self.

"By the way," spoke the mage, fo­cus­ing the whole pow­er of his new­ly sharp­ened eye-sight on the de­li­cious elvish nip­ples. "I'm look­ing for an el­ven fe­male com­pan­ion if you're up for a long-term con­tract. Had a hard time find­ing one in my pre­vi­ous form, so the po­si­tion is still va­cant for now."

The luck sud­den­ly stroked her be­tween the legs again. "Hell yeah! I'm in. But why specif­i­cal­ly an el­ven fe­male??"

"Just a pref­er­ence. I used to live with an elf girl back in my first youth. Elves can't be im­preg­nat­ed by hu­mans, and that's ex­treme­ly con­ve­nient, hav­ing my tem­per," he winked.

"I'm all yours, babe!" she re­moved some strand of hair from his face and stroked his cheek. Af­ter ad­mir­ing him for a few mo­ments she asked. "So how do we sign that new job con­tract of mine?"

"Well, I'll just put my seal up here and leave my sig­na­ture be­low?" He joked. The elf girl opened her to re­turn the joke that it'd be like writ­ing a se­cret mes­sage with milk, but she had to save it for a bit lat­er and on­ly gasped as the young War­lock's tongue im­me­di­ate­ly en­tered her part­ed lips, while his pen start­ed leav­ing his large, so­phis­ti­cat­ed sig­na­ture un­der the body of the con­tract.

See al­so