Dedication of the Tower
#1 of Dakkon the Mage
Dakkon the Mage
© Drenthe, August 2005
All Rights Reserved
May only be distributed for free.
May not be altered in any way.
Contains erotic material of a homosexual nature, intended solely for adults.
Reader discretion is advised.
Author's notes:
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The time period for this story is the 13th century. Magic flourishes.
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_The setting for this story is the Salisbury plains, the area of Britain where you might find Stonehenge, among other things. _
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If you don't know what an Okapi is, [Google it now.](%5C)_ They're also known as Forest Giraffes._
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The magic in this story is loosely based upon the magic system in Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, but those unfamiliar to the system should have no difficulty reading the story. If you just happen to be familiar with this system, you might be able to infer more about Dakkon's capabilities than I've stated explicitly.
Chapter 1: Dedication of the Tower
Dakkon awoke to a pungent smell and a splitting headache. He was damp. Has it rained,_he wondered,_or did I miss the ground when I puked. He cracked open his eyes and blinked back the dimness of early dawn, sparing himself a look.
His throat was scratchy and raw, acidic even, but he found the breath to groan his despair when he saw the damage done by his disquieted stomach. "My new robes!" Half-missed was the ground. Half-hit were his Master's robes, the gossamer fabric stained with wine-tinted bile down the left side, ending in a fetid puddle where part of the cloth had lain.
He staggered to his feet and attempted to sit up on his chest of belongings, sparing himself another look. While the morning dew had settled into the his spotted tabby coat, it looked like the stain had had plenty of time to set. He was going to have to buy a new set, the very morning after he had replaced his old ones! With his head still aching from a hangover, he decided to take advantage of the early-morning darkness to look around a bit. Once the sun came up, it would be hellish trying to see with his pounding headache.
Dakkon seemed to be in the middle of a slightly overgrown road running through the Salisbury plains, next to a small stone tower. The plains of the British countryside were awfully yellow in September, and Dakkon far preferred the green carpet that covered this countryside every spring. But as he surveyed the landscape, he noticed that his view was obstructed by a stone... well, a stone obstruction. He craned his head upwards to look at the dark gray tower that seemed to have sprouted out of the countryside before him like a weed. The tower. His tower!
The memories came back to him in a rush: being congratulated by his Guildmaster on surpassing Journeyman rank, having_Bedlam_recognized as an important spell. Then the wine, then the laughter, then more wine and then the scroll of_Teleport_ he'd read to end up here, the transportation sickness that had blown through him like a gale, the lurching feeling of his stomach turning upside down, trying to leap out of his throat...
He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the unsettling stain and his recollections of the evening for the moment, and padded over to the tower door. Moving to push it open, his paws touched the oak and inadvertently triggered a spell. The door was filled with magic, and he could tell it was no mere apprentice who cast the spell. He felt a compulsion to say who he was, and barely held his tongue as he felt his fur rise up as the energy surged through him, to eventually subside as it drained back into the numinous ether. Testing the door, he found it was held with a force unlike any mere lock, removed his hand, and spoke aloud on a guess.
"I am Dakkon Scribe, Master in the Mages Guild. This tower is now mine," he spoke the words firmly, and pressed against the door again. It swung open soundlessly on oiled hinges, which meant... The tower was his! He grinned giddily, his hangover forgotten, and moved to inspect his new home. With a slight lean on the tips of his toes, he peered inside curiously, kitty cat ears swiveling as he listened for any noise. It was only tall enough for three stories plus the roof, and had ladders connecting the various floors instead of stairs. Spacious it was not, but it was_his_, as was the land around it. New Masters were expected to fund the expansion of their own facilities with their accomplishments. Giving new Masters a cramped little tower was an economical way for the Guild to nudge them in the direction of profit, along the line of desire. Dakkon knew this, but he'd been working his tail off for the last few_years_ trying to reach Master. He could use a day off, relaxing.
He shucked his soiled robe inside his new tower and looked around, feeling the rough, gray stone walls and the sandy, dirty stone floor. He was imagining what he would do here, the energies he would release and the powers he could bring to his command. With power comes wealth, and possibilities for experiments, unraveling mysteries he had yet to even discover. Wealth and power enough to solve mysteries of the universe would bring fame, which could lead to all sorts of interesting... personal acquaintances. Dakkon had developed a bit of a xenophilic kink to him, one which he had nurtured and fed with the spoils from being an industrious voyeur. A harmless little fetish, it now demanded his attention as he pondered the kind of renown that would have Guildmaster Fornman offering his daughter's hand in marriage--and his son's, when that failed. Dakkon dreamt of the fame that would bring potential candidates to him from all across the world, the awe that would hold them spellbound at a mere scent of his aura, the desperation that would drive young apprentices to extreme lengths just to study under him. Speaking of lengths, a draft cooling down his heated erection reminded him to shut the door. He thought about dragging in his chest of belongings from outside, but decided they would be safe outside until he finished. Few steal from mages lightly.
He sunk down to his knees as he stroked the taut muscles under his downy spotted coat, imagining his own private fantasies of apprentice prodigies traveling here, just to meet him. They all wanted the same thing; vying for a place under the Legendary Dakkon Scribe, willing to do anything to be accepted into his tutelage. There was one his mind kept focusing on, a strange exotic giraffe-like hoofer with a confused jumble of brown and white stripes over its lower body and arms. It was--He was called an okapi, and clad only in a small loincloth. Okapi were usually short, this one shorter than average, and underage by a year too, which Dakkon found interesting in his daydreams. His mind's eye laid out the familiar fantasy scene as his paw stroked softly over his testicles, tugging his sheath and sensitive orbs downward to expose his shaft to the empty tower. He moaned quietly and began whispering the strange words of a spell, interleaving reality with fantasy as the images of his mind took shape in the empty tower. A glamour spread through the air. Oily words tumbled down his supple feline tongue, escaped his lips, manifested his will.
Through lidded eyes Dakkon saw a ghostly image of himself standing next to the okapi before him, while his paws glided over the spike of cat flesh rising up from his paws. One claw nimbly located a loop of enchanted platinum through the flesh, and Dakkon hissed his pleasure to the two new figures. Older, wiser, more confident, palpably powerful, the phantom Dakkon was sitting atop a marble throne glowering at the nearly naked herbivore begging before him. The scene began to play out as Dakkon sat in a trance, a tiny bead of precum oozing down his shaft into the fur of his knuckles. As he whispered to the spell, which was now cast, the okapi repeated his words in a high, almost frantic tone, smudged with an exotic savannah accent.
"But_sir_," he cried, "I have given up everything to journey here. I sold my horses, my scrolls, my lands, my spell book, even the clothes off my back. If you turn me away, I will have nothing left!" His face was damp with tears and he was bending over in supplication, far enough to profile the taut mounds of his well muscled rump, sprinkled with small brown stripes that seemed to draw the eye between them. What wondrous things Dakkon's eyes beheld!
"Nothing left, you say?" the ghostly Dakkon observed with some warmth in his voice, lust tempered with indignation at the uppity behavior of this petitioner, "You claim to have nothing, but you have plenty to sell even now. I have no time for games, boy, and no need of apprentices who value other things higher than magic." He gestured to the okapi's small loincloth, and narrowed his eyes, "Return when you are serious." His paw waved in dismissal to the ghostly young man, who wailed his sadness.
"Please! I would do anything for this opportunity... If I must give up every last thing, then I shall." With that he stood up, untied his loincloth and dropped it at the feet of the marble throne. His muscled legs and skinny belly blended into petite striped hips and a not-quite-so-petite white sheath. The very tip of an shy ebony glans caught the seated feline's eye, and he relaxed into his throne to adjust his robes while the okapi blushed, holding his paws to the sides of his hips, looking nervous. With his head downcast, defeated, he softly lamented, "I have nothing else. Please teach me, master, I beg..."
The elder ghost smiled darkly, enjoying his game with the exotic little creature, "Nothing? Oh, come now, boy. Horses? Lands? Clothes? These things are the unnecessary attachments to a society full of mere men; they have nothing to do with the study of magic. You lose nothing by giving them up; don't look so deprived." His robes were slightly misshapen by a rising erection that seemed to grow firmer with each pulsing heartbeat, encouraged by the paw which stroked himself delicately, sensually. He continued, "It is the sacrifices a mage makes,_of_magic and _for_magic, that allow him to become great. Your apprentice's spell book and scrolls were a step in the right direction, a single step, but for the wrong reason. Perhaps living naked on the streets will carry you further in the right direction, in a few years time..." His voice trailed off, and the naked okapi was about to plead his case once again. The slender forest giraffe's muzzle was open, poised to assert his good qualities to the stubborn master who would not accept him. _Years_on the street? It was unthinkable!
But Dakkon's voice boomed suddenly from his more aged form before the gentle herbivore had a chance, "I have no need for an apprentice who today clings to his own weaknesses, and is too stupid to realize what they are! Your most precious magical tool is yours alone, but you don't even know what it is, do you?" The mage got such a thrill out of dominating young hoofers into doing his bidding. The smell of sex wafted off his shaft, filled his nose and suffused his lustful illusion, deepening the blush that had crept under the okapi's brown and white face fur, and through his delicately expressive ears.
The small being shrank away, turning and granting a splendid view of his rump to both the phantasmal feline and the kneeling mage in doing so. He looked like he was going to run for his life, for his body shook so violently. He held his tongue, petrified by his desire to stay and his instinct to leave, and couldn't even glance back. Eventually the elder prodded him with a soft purr, "I asked you a question... Do you wish to answer it?" He casually gave his erection a stroke through the shimmering, nearly translucent fabric that made up his clothes. A wet spot had seeped through them, and stuck to the head of his shaft, outlining an unusually shiny tip.
The okapi nodded his head shakily, "M-my... soul, Lord Dakkon?"
Dakkon's apparition considered this as if taken aback, while his mood softened. He nodded, "Why, yes, you are correct... Technically. However, the magic involved in giving up such a thing is considerably beyond your level--and it is forbidden to practice in any case--so that you will keep." He rose from the chair, stepped over the forgotten loincloth, and approached the shorter, younger male with an outstretched hand. The naked young creature turned towards him but stepped back fearfully, approaching the tower's far wall. As his warm, striped bottom touched the cold, rough stone, he yipped in surprise. Cornered, he allowed his jaw to be petted gently as he was enlightened by the illusion of Dakkon Scribe, who seemed to enjoy having his prey between a rock and a hard erection. "A mage calls magic with his voice and his will, and shapes it with his body. Calling power is simple: chant long enough and you yield a practically endless supply of the stuff. Shaping is the tricky part, because the body naturally conserves itself, and if you can't form magic into a useful state, it fades away... or blows up.
"We grow in our ability to shape power by demanding more and more from our bodies. Left to our own devices, we become content with the power we have, we stop growing. However..." he paused as the paw on the okapi's cheek was slid down over his short, silky chest hair, across his skinny abdomen, lightly grazed across the boy's scrotum, and then cupped his testes possessively, as he whispered into the youth's ear, "However, if someone_else_owns our bodies, we are held to a stricter standard. We are forced to meet their demands; forced to grow because we have no choice. That is why my apprentice must give his body away to another."
Dakkon's cock was already aching for release from watching this little scene play through to the end a dozen or more times before, but in its own way, this fantasy had its purpose of testing his own endurance. This was still the foreplay, after all, and a mage had to keep his concentration no matter how... distracting a situation might be. Another drop of feline precum fell off the metal ring it clung to, and joined the puddle between his knees as he knelt, no longer touching himself. It was unnecessary at this point, as long as he watched "himself" caress that nubile male flesh, watched his muzzle lap at the boy's cute ears. It had been too long since he'd enjoyed the company of a willing apprentice.
The young okapi was elated to hear his master might accept him, but still nervous at speaking up. He somehow found his voice, raised it, and breathed, "Take it, my lord. I will do--whatever you command! I will be your apprentice..."
Dakkon's phantom smiled, nodded, and pressed his muzzle to the okapi's lips while soft wet noises escaped the seal of their muzzles. His paw gripped a striped buttock and forced their bodies together, grinding until... "Zephyr," the illusory cat commanded, "to my closet please." With that his shimmering robe pulled itself away from him as if silently tearing to pieces, then gathered itself in the air and floated through the wooden ceiling, casting a dim glow across the three figures on the tower's ground floor.
Okapi had a number of intriguing features that Dakkon found exciting, such as the striped ass and the black maleness that looked like it was now grinding into his likeness's leg. Others included the tiny horns that crowned the heads of the males--handles provided by a randy savannah god, perhaps?-- and their exceptionally long tongues, long enough to lick their forehead, their eyes, or the entirety of a spotted tabby cat's sheath.
The smaller's male's paw closed around the newly exposed, jutting erection of his master, awed by the sight as his horns were tugged down firmly by an insistent cat's paw. He lowered to his knees and studied the shiny metal loop through Dakkon's engorged flesh, faithfully reproduced in his illusion.
"Master, why--" began the okapi as he studied the dripping piercing, only to be interrupted before he could ask of its purpose.
"Apprentices," the cat hissed at him, annoyed that his muzzle was not already put to better use, "assist with research according to their master's wishes." He rubbed his seeping cock tip against the lips of his new understudy, "The glans was one of many locations tested, but the only one that was... useful, when my master's research was performed."
A few agonizing seconds later, every muzzle in the tower, real or figment, hung open as the long okapi tongue was applied to kitten cock, circled the drooling girth, and drew inches of pulsing hot flesh forward.The illusory precum was slurped off by the sinuous stroking and flat herbivore teeth nibbled at the platinum jewelry between them, tugging slightly and eliciting more tabby juice from the elder male.
A minute of oral teasing passed before the spaced-out mage suddenly sat up a little bit, splitting half his concentration away from the cocksucking he was supposed to be directing. Dakkon realized that he'd forgotten to say the okapi's line immediately before the blowjob. He wondered if he'd entranced himself -- then quickly reminded himself that that was merely a myth. He put it down to his hormones, today, and brought his attention back to the scene, wishing that okapi were native to Britain!
The nursing on the erection resumed as Dakkon focused his full concentration to the task at hand, with the okapi making slurping noises and the owner of the fine shaft groaning quietly as his claws dug into short, giraffe-like horns. He bucked his hips to kiss the poor lad's tonsils with his glans, and the hoofer nearly gagged. But with his will focused on not displeasing his new master, not letting him down and being turned away after coming so_close_to that which he had paid so dearly, he persevered in his servitude. His eyes watered. His jaw shook and trembled, exhausted from the strain. Still, he took the firm stabs into his throat and swallowed every second to fight his gag reflex.
The illusion of Dakkon growled, gritted his teeth, and pulled back to rapidly massage the first two inches of his shiny, wet, cat dick inside his new apprentice's muzzle, jerking off between tongue and palate. Moments after, the Dakkon made of fur and flesh grabbed his scorching hot, engorged erection, stroking frantically to stoke the coals of lust into orgasm, starved by neglect, kept hot by desire.
_This_was the test of his control! He_had_to hold onto his concentration! How he _ached_to hold onto those tiny horns instead! His claws unsheathed from his empty left paw as involuntary spasms traced a line through his spinal chord, a line which curled through his seed-laden testicles and up the crooked blood vessels of his primed maleness, waiting for the shower of sparks that would set him off like a cannon. Inside his head, he screamed for focus despite the torturous vision of his elder self in the throes of orgasm, as the flood of seed spilled from the straining muzzle that sought to contain it, to swallow it. Dakkon panted under the unbearable, heavenly stimulation of his paw with his eyes staring blankly at what his figment did next, paralyzed as he held onto consciousness by a single golden thread: the thread which he used to direct his illusion.
Now spent, thanks to the ministrations of his apprentice, the spotted tabby cat withdrew his shaft from the sticky muzzle he had just enjoyed, purring as he unwound a tongue which had threaded itself through his platinum piercing. He drew his fingertips along the underside of the boy's chin and moistened his claws in the fluid which had missed its mark, gathering up some of the mess on the ends of two fingers to spread it across the boy's forehead. Carefully, he formed his spilt essence into the symbol of the Scribes, a goose quill pen, and purred calmly--ignoring the feline spell caster in the corner, whose cum was finally spraying out like a waterfall onto his tower floor. "You," the calm phantom stated, as his sharp nail formed the point of the quill pen adorning his slave, "are_mine_."
And that was the last of Dakkon Scribe's illusion. The marble throne, the sexy little apprentice slave, the older, wiser, more powerful version of himself, even the pool of cum that had flooded the boy's mouth were gone, like they had never existed at all. The tabby cat wizard slumped to the ground, breathing unsteadily as his orgasm faded, fluids oozing out from around the platinum ring in his urethra. He rolled over onto his back, ignoring the dirt that stuck in his fur as he sprawled naked on the stones, and laughed exhaustedly. He exulted in his success, he'd held onto the spell! His self-gratification successful, he ran the scene back through his mind and felt a shiver, an echo of the powerful orgasm he'd just had.
As he lazily studied the mess he'd created in a line from one inch to six feet away from him, he was struck with an urge to duplicate the last part of the scene on a larger scale. A wizard's research laboratory is every bit as important as the assistants who do the research, after all. Moving to sit next to the middle of the puddle he'd created, he began drawing a large symbol, similar to the one placed on that lovely okapi's forehead... In a few minutes he was done, and he spoke sharply in a language that sounded of forked tongues, interminable lives and sabre-sharp teeth while the quill pen-shaped stain turned black as soot, and sunk into the grayish stone permanently. Nothing but the faintest tingle of magic bleeding away could be felt as he stroked the lines once more, and he knew he would be spent until he rested for several hours. Still he called to the empty air expectantly, purposefully...
"I am Dakkon Scribe, and this tower is mine."
To be Continued...
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