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You fall, hard onto your backside, in an effort to side-step a particularly fast-moving diamond bullet. It grazes the top of your head as you go down, and it's not hard to see that if you hadn't tripped up it would have got you directly in the chest.
A heavy, frustrated sigh slips past your lips as the diamond fizzes away into nothingness behind you. Even though these were just casual fights (could you classify it as playfighting?), it burnt when the game had to be called off because you'd tripped on your own feet, or moved left instead of right - directly into a bullet- or because somehow the swirling carousel in the center of the cell grabbed your attention more than the incoming attack.
The other projectiles dissipate, the thrumming electricity of magic fading away, leaving a cold implosion as it sucks out of the air. A quirk of Darkner magic, you suppose. You survey the damage of this round, leaning back on your elbows; you're sure you'll have one heck of a bruise on your ass tomorrow from the way you fell, and wounds varying from light nicks to bleeding cuts pepper the outside of your thigh. A few even tore little holes through your skirt in places. You're less worried about the wounds now than you used to be, the first time you came to this place.
"AN ADMIRABLE EFFORT!"
When you'd first come here, Jevil's voice was too much; it was everywhere, all at once, from every corner, every inch of wall, from the mouth of its speaker. You were getting used to it, though. It's the type of thing that becomes less unsettling with time, and you'd spent time enough here. Now it's starting to feel more like a regular (though very loud) speaking voice, to you. You flash him a smile as he bounds towards you. There's no point hiding your wounds from him. It isn't like they're severe anyway.
"Further than last time... maybe next time we'll finally last more than a handful of rounds." There's an undertone of frustration in your voice, and you're sure Jevil picks up on it too, but honestly, the fun you have in these playfights more than makes up for the feeling of falling short.
Plus, being honest with yourself... the main attraction always comes after the game's over.
"THE MORE TIME SPENT IN OUR LITTLE FREEDOM, THE EASIER IT WILL COME! AFTER ALL, THERE ARE ALWAYS STRONGER, STRONGER." His hands sweep over your wounds as he talks, the familiar icy feeling of skin being drawn back together and blood vessels reforming as your wounds heal. Truthfully, you still don't know why he heals you after every round. You speculate that maybe it's because he wants you to keep coming back to 'play', or maybe there's a part of him that feels guilty that you're injured, or maybe it's just to throw you for a loop. You can only guess. It's not like he gives himself away too much.
He sits, waiting for your wounds to heal, and the slightest twitch of his tail betrays his intentions to you. You know that sign, after coming here so often, so many times. You know what's coming next. You know what he wants. That impatient twitch is all the warning you get before he's poised over you, straddling your still-healing legs, with one-half of your blouse in each hand. Pausing. Giving you a chance to refuse.
Your response is similarly non-verbal; you shift under him, knees angling slightly, tilting him towards you. His eyes light up, neon yellow, as his regular smile is replaced by a much more wicked version. He grasps the fabric tighter, pulling it open in one swift motion. You're sure you heard the sound of tearing cotton from somewhere on your person, but at present you're too preoccupied to care much.
As soon as he's exposed you to himself he leans forward, lightly pressing down on your collarbone with his teeth, humming in response to the gentle moan you give him. His tongue sweeps over the area before he shifts himself, biting down with a harder force. You faintly feel little beads of blood welling up as he pulls away, but those are quickly swiped away too, the sensation of his tongue on your wounds making you shiver.
Jevil sits back on your legs as he admires his handiwork. You're not worked up enough to be a helpless moaning mess - not yet anyway - but you do feel the heat in your neck and cheeks at the appreciative scrutiny. You avert your gaze, wondering what his next move will be-
You don't have to wait long. He roughly pushes the cups of your bra down (how he doesn't snap the straps is beyond you), revealing your breasts. His claws are light and gentle on your skin- when did he discard his gloves? - as his thumbs trace your areolas in a spiral, leading inwards to your nipples. You can feel the tension build in your stomach as your nipples begin to harden in anticipation of his touch, watching the spiral grow smaller, edge closer, your breath becoming a little heavier-
and then he pulls away with a quiet laugh. That little bastard.
Before you can say a word, before you can reach out and drag him closer, he moves, hiking your damaged skirt up and edging your legs apart. You allow him a little room as he settles between your thighs, tracing the elastic of your underwear over your hipbones and thighs. A gentle shiver comes over you at the sensation. You'd have never thought he could move so slowly or touch so lightly, not when you'd first met him.
He moves his focus inward slightly, his thumb ghosting over the crotch of your panties, up over your labia, past your rapidly-warming clit, stopping at your pubic bone. You let out a pleasured sigh at what little clitoral stimulation he'd given you, watching that lecherous grin widen as he runs the digit on the same path, but downward. His eyes flicker down to your lips, at your little gasp at his light touch on you, at your teeth biting down on your lip as he teases the organ.
He's waiting, you know it, he knows you know it. He's waiting for you to moan his name and splay your legs further apart and beg.
You aren't far gone enough for that. Not yet. So you bite back a moan as he presses, firmer, between your labia through your panties, the fabric being pushed closer to your opening. A light circular motion, softer at some points and firmer at others, before dragging up, agonisingly slow. The heated wetness brought upward with him, and back down again, spreading the growing wet patch further and further up, closer and closer. The scent of your natural lubricant hits you as it seeps through the cotton of your underwear because of the way he's working on you.
You wonder, idly, if it's affecting him at all, but you know he wouldn't let it show until later. After all, a game where you concede at the start is no fun at all.
A soft moan escapes your lips as he ventures a little too far, his slicked-up thumb slipping hard over your clit. You can feel how much of your wetness is on him just from that touch. His grin tenses slightly at the edges as he drags back down, back to the center of the damp cotton, dragging it back up and massaging it into you, running hard circles around your clit that has your thighs quivering as his palm pushes down on your pubic bone. You give in, spreading your legs more, arching your back up, angling your hips, greedy for his touch. You're soaked through, you can feel it, and it won't be much longer before-
"CAN YOU FEEL THE WORLD SPINNING, SPINNING? I THINK YOU CAN. THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE IS QUITE SOMETHING. BUT MAYBE I WILL LEAVE YOU FOR A MOMENT TO BURN, BURN."
Oh no. No. You know this trick. You know what he's about to do. You desperately try and reach out to keep him in place, keep him bringing you closer to that tantalisingly close edge -
A second him, half-visible but still tangible, restricts your hands behind you. Then another two, immobilising both legs. You can only imagine it's so that you don't try and make yourself come by squeezing your thighs together.
You whine loudly in protest, held firm in such an exhibitionistic pose. He laughs at you - as do his copies - from a foot away, content to watch you squirm, desperate to get your release from anything.
You won't give in yet.
Once you calm down and still a little, the copies relax their holds on you and then there he is, again, between your legs, massaging your crotch and circling your clit like he hadn't just left you to stew for what felt like a lifetime. Still hot from earlier you roll your hips into his touch, a choked gasp slipping out as he pushes harder on your clit in response. You can feel it, your entire genital area's swollen with need, you're on fire, about to burst-
again, just before you reach your climax he's done, and again you're restricted.
"God, Jevil, please," you gasp, shivering uncontrollably with the arousal coursing through your veins. You don't care about losing any more. The denial's driving you mad. Had you not been restrained, you'd probably be taking matters into your own hands and fucking him already.
He laughs, watching you from a distance until you come to a still again, messy and sweating and eyes absolutely shrouded in desperation and desire. When he comes back to you, you hope it's the last time, only to cry out as he pulls away again. You can't even think up anything to say about breaking the rules by not giving in after you've begged him; everything's muddling together in a haze, muddied by the insistent pulses of arousal. A pitiful whine will have to do. You hope he gets the idea.
He continues his little game with you for a few more rounds - bring you to the edge, step back, wait for you to pull yourself back, and tease you again. By the time he's satisfied that he's tortured you enough he's got your fluids covering his palm, and you're wet from the ass to the pubic bone.
"Please," you whisper, shaking, feeling the rhythmic contractions of your impending, oft-denied orgasm. You can't make any other words. They're all out the window. "Please."
In a second the copies are gone and you're free, collapsed like a ragdoll on the ground. He's back between your legs, your panties ripped off, his tongue at your labia and opening like a starving man. Your head lolls back with a desperate groan at the sensation of his breath on your damp skin, at him working his way up, alternating suckling at your lips and lapping at them, tasting you, and you think you might actually go mad with the pent-up arousal you've been denied for the past twenty minutes, but this just feels so good-
"Oh God," you cry out as he moves without warning up to your clit, frenzied and un-coordinated licks interspersed with the intense pressure of his rough suckling, and it's all too much - you scream, back arched, hips jerking uncontrollably against his mouth as the white-hot blindness of your orgasm overwhelms all your other senses.
You don't even realise how wet your orgasm was until you regain your senses in time to see him pulling away with a wide, self-satisfied smile, not just his lips damp but also the collar and front of his shirt. You... didn't even know you could do that? You're absolutely certain you're burning red right now. You'd hide your face if you still had strength left in your arms, but you're trembling like a leaf from the exertion, breath still heavy and burning in your lungs.
With a snap of his fingers the sullied clothes vanish - you aren't looking too hard over the heaving of your chest to see if all his clothes are gone too - and he pauses, still nestled between your legs, one hand on your knee as if bracing himself.
It's then that you realise what's coming.
You angle your hips a little to assist his entry as his other hand guides him in, little stars bursting behind your eyes as your post-orgasm walls feel the pressure of his dick in you, stretching to accommodate.
"ARE YOU READY TO FEEL THE WORLD SPINNING, SPINNING? OR MAYBE JUST YOUR HEAD, NU-HA!"
A quivering breath breaks into a yelp, bottoming out into a loud moan as he slams into you with a reckless abandon. You know firsthand he has a sense of rhythm, but today is apparently not the day to be using it. He pulls out fully and slams back in again, and again, a chaotic and frenzied display of desperation, fucking you so hard that you feel your pussy start to burn, but that familiar heat is building back up again, and you can't help it, your back arches and your hips roll inward to push him deeper into you, and your hands scrabble for something, anything to sink into as you cry out, toes curling, legs tensing, squeezing him on both sides-
He comes not long after you do, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he cries out, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs so hard that his claws pierce your skin. A shiver runs through you as you feel him come into you, the liquid almost gelatinous inside you.
"WHAT FUN, WHAT FUN!" His voice is sharp again in your sex-hazed mind. His semen spills out of you as he pulls out, a wave of his hands materialising a clean set of clothes onto himself. You, however, do not have the same luxury, sweating and quivering with cum dripping down your asscheeks, your skirt ruched up around your waist. Right now though, you don't care, closing your eyes to savor the feeling as your breathing starts to slow again.
...Right up until there's the sound of a slamming door, and the thump of someone descending the stairs to the cell. Jevil lets out a short bark of laughter again as you shoot bolt upright, desperately trying to cover yourself in time. You hurriedly shimmy your bra cups back into the right position before shrugging your blouse back on as fast as you can. Three missing buttons and a tear at the waist's seam... You'll have to make do, wrapping it around yourself and tucking it into the waistband of your skirt. Your panties are missing too, and you're still dripping both his and your own cum down your thighs, but there's no time. You burst through the cell door and bolt past the poor dumbstruck Rudinn guard – no doubt assigned down here to make sure people (like you) weren't getting to the cell. As you run, embarrassed and fearful of what may happen if you get captured, you hear Jevil's voice floating up after you, following you on your ascent.
“RUN, RUN, AS FAST AS YOU CAN! UEE HEE HEE...”
You make a note that you're likely to encounter much more security on your next jaunt to the Dark World because of this.
For now, though, your main concern should be hoping that all your students have gone home for the day, instead of seeing you like... well, like this.
You feel your sins prickling at your skin.