Morgana's Discovery
by @kalacieShe discovers a living, breathing latex in her spell-stained study—hungry, responsive, and utterly hers. Morgana tests its limits on Elara’s trembling form and Dorian’s bound wrists, finding that power tastes sweeter when shared with those who have no choice but to take it. By nightfall, the sorceress wears the fel like a second skin, and her servants wear the marks of her discovery.
MEET THE CHARACTERS
Elara Vance
Morgana's head maid, a woman in her early 30s with honey-blond hair pinned in an severe bun, tired hazel eyes that have learned to reveal nothing, and the compact, efficient build of someone accustomed to physical labor. A thin white scar runs from her left temple to her jawline—a souvenir from a previous mistress's displeasure. She carries herself with the perfect stillness of prey that has learned not to draw attention, though her hands tremble almost imperceptibly when Morgana's experiments take a new direction.
Morgana Vane
Morgana Vane is a powerful enchantress who clawed her way from abandonment to aristocracy through seduction, mind magic, and ruthless ambition. She has spent nearly two centuries refining her beauty, knowledge, and magical arsenal, and now commands a manor with a throne that drains the life force of others. She moves through the world like a predator in silk, always calculating, always in control.
Fel
Fel is a sentient symbiotic latex, born from succubus experiments in pleasure. It feeds on pleasure energy, granting its host supernatural strength and heightened sensations. When touched, it sends waves of ecstasy through the skin, and it clings to its host as living clothing, shifting shape at will.
The Dark Throne
The Dark Throne is an ancient, sentient artifact forged by warlocks to create god-emperors. It sits in silent vigil, telepathically connected to anyone who dares to seat themselves upon it. Its purpose is to encourage its sitters to seize power and feed it willing sacrifices.
Selussa Grevalur
Elven princess, marked by the Dark Throne, bound to the obsidian cross in the throne room. First thread of the web, to be trained and sent home to unravel the elven court.
Seraphine Vell
Mage of the Eastern Order, bonded to the fel, wears a fishnet latex pattern. Asleep in her chamber, dreaming of power. Her colleagues are expected to follow her sending scroll.
Cora
Handmaiden, broken by Lyra and drained by the throne, now an empty vessel in the east wing vessel room. Awaits a new name and purpose.
Mira
Handmaiden, stripped of will by the throne's channeling, left empty and peaceful on the chamber floor. Ready to be shaped.
Valerius
Merchant, emptied by Elara and the throne, now a mindless vessel in the east wing beside the drone.
Dorian
Drained by the throne and remade into a tool of pure devotion, his former self erased. Purpose unspecified.
Lyra
Guided Morgana to the hidden cross, pulled the web's chain, made Morgana kneel, now shares the bond and the plan to use the cross on the factor and Selussa.
Veyra
Empty drone, formerly a mage, kneeling at the throne's base, wearing a fishnet pattern of living latex; used by Elara for practice.
EXPLORE CHAPTERS
First Touch
Morgana's alchemy-stained fingers hover over the obsidian shard she unearthed from the vault—it pulses with a wet, hungry rhythm against her palm. She speaks the binding word she found in the marginal
Deeper Still
Elara kneels on the rug before Morgana's chair, the afternoon sun slanting through the windows, her hands resting palms-up on her thighs as instructed. The fel slides from Morgana's arm in a slow coil
The Throne's Whisper
Morgana leads Elara down the spiral stairs beneath the manor, the fel dress catching the torchlight as they enter the circular chamber where the Dark Throne sits in silent vigil. The air thickens as M
Dorian's Summons
Morgana ascends the spiral stairs, Elara following like a shadow, the fel dress still clinging to her skin and humming with residual pleasure. In the study, Morgana stops before her desk and draws a s
Fel Unleashed
Morgana sits cross-legged beside the fire, Lyra's spent body still glistening with fel, and she speaks the unbinding word—not to release control, but to remove restraint. The fel surges across her own