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---

Cynthia lay on her back in her dark
bedroom, staring blankly upward. Sleep refused to come; her thoughts whirled
with memories of the last two days.

The police had found her in the
alley, curled up and sobbing, and taken her to the emergency room along with
the other survivors of the Beast’s second attack. Once there, they quickly
realized she wasn’t physically harmed, which meant sitting, alone, surrounded
by the sick and injured, waiting for someone to call the orphanage.

Sister Euphresia had shown up around
midnight, furiously demanding to know where Cynthia had disappeared to.
“You may be eighteen, but you haven’t moved out yet, and until you do,
you’re still our responsibility!” she’d said–multiple times, with slight
variations.

Cynthia couldn’t explain. What could
she say? That she’d been cursed and blessed, given strange powers, compelled to
embrace being a sex slave?

They’d probably call an exorcist–the Church still
had those, didn’t it? She’d babbled something about being caught in the first
attack, wandering confused and scared for a day, and then being picked up by
the police after the second. Sister Euphrasia seemed suspicious, but at least
for now she’d bought Cynthia’s claim that being found near the second attack
was pure coincidence.

And then she’d had to do it all over
again with Ruthie. “We thought you were dead!” was the refrain
that time, though, and unlike Euphresia Ruthie’s variations on it were
accompanied by tears. Which of course started Cynthia crying again.

Eventually, Ruthie had crawled into
her bunk–the top one–and gone to sleep. Cynthia could hear her soft snores,
the creak of the springs behind the thin particle board that silently received
Cynthia’s blank gaze.

Maybe she should just tell them.
They probably wouldn’t believe her, but if she demonstrated… no, that
wouldn’t work, then she’d be Syn again, and Syn loved being Syn, she
would leave and make sure the nuns never allowed Cynthia back. But if they did
call in an exorcist, maybe that could actually work? Get whatever this
blessing/curse was out of her system and set her free?

But. Syn loved being Syn. And
Cynthia… well, she didn’t mind being Cynthia, but it was–well,
ordinary. Cynthia did all right at school, but she wasn’t a genius. She could
sing well enough for a place in the choir, but she wasn’t a soloist. She wasn’t
ugly, but she wasn’t beautiful. Wasn’t an outcast, but wasn’t super-popular.
She was just Cynthia, and would never be anything else.

Could she really throw away being
Syn, being a gorgeous sexy super-powered warrior against evil monsters? After
all, if not for the whole sexual slavery thing, and the monsters, it would have
been pretty much end-to-end wonderful–and when she was Syn, even the
slavery felt good. Even being held down and–her mind skidded away from the
word–used by that monster felt good.

Her last thought before exhaustion
finally claimed her was, Maybe the problem isn’t being Syn. Maybe it’s
becoming Cynthia again.

* * *

Lawrence laughed cruelly.
“You’re mine, Syn! And you’ll do anything I want!” He rubbed his
enormous cock, and Cynthia recognized it as the monster’s.

“I’m not Syn!” she
protested, but he ignored her as he advanced slowly, looming over her.

“This is what you get,”
Sister Euphresia said sternly, and handed Lawrence a tangled bundle of dark red
ropes.

Lawrence held one, and Ruthie had
another. They slowly circled Cynthia, who could only stand helplessly as they
wound around her. There were two other people winding ropes around her, too,
but she couldn’t quite see them–a small man, who circled her directly across
from Lawrence, and a tall woman opposite Ruthie.

Soon she was on her knees,
completely bound, helpless. The ropes had morphed from a cocoon to the minimum
necessary to hold her completely immobile, and her clothes had vanished,
leaving her naked as well. She tried to struggle, and gasped.

The ropes felt so good. And
the more she struggled, the better she felt.

She looked up to see that Sister
Euphresia, Lawrence, Ruthie, and the two people she couldn’t see were gone. Two
women stood in front of her, naked as she was, holding hands. They were
identical in every way, except that one was bathed in golden light and so
beautiful it was hard to look at her, and the other was draped in shadow and so
sexy it was hard to look away.

Each laid a gentle hand on one of
Cynthia’s cheeks, the golden beauty on her left and the dark seductress on her
right. They said something, but she couldn’t hear.

“What?” she asked.

They said it again, but she still
couldn’t hear them. She strained as hard as she could, desperate to catch
anything of their message, because she knew it had to be incredibly important.
They were sad, and trying to warn her, and to help her, she was certain of
that. But no matter how she strained, she couldn’t make out a single word.

And then she woke up.

* * *

Janelle tried not to squirm in her
chair as the meeting droned on. It wasn’t that it was boring–quite the
opposite, it was a major crisis that had to be dealt with. Two explosions of
unknown causes in two days, dozens of deaths, over a hundred injured, and no
one could tell her what was happening? That was bad.

The problem was that she already
knew what she was going to do about it, and the prospect was intensely
exciting. But she couldn’t do it until the right moment, and that moment would
be when everyone else stopped making excuses or explaining at length what the
explosions weren’t. So she had to sit and wait, wet with anticipation, while
the chief of police explained that there were no credible claims of
responsibility by terrorists or evidence of incendiary devices at the scene, a
representative from the utility company insisted that there were no gas leaks
or electrical issues in the areas hit, and on and on, one stuffed-shirt old man
after another using as many words as possible to say that he didn’t know
anything and it wasn’t his fault.

Finally, finally they were all
finished, and looking to her for her decision. Finally, she could obey, and
feel pleasure. “Gentlemen, it’s all right,” she said. She couldn’t
quite suppress the mini-orgasm as she began to obey, but she was able to turn
it into a hopefully convincing smile. “I have already begun assembling a
task force to investigate these disasters, headed by a notable expert in the
field.”

Before any of the other people could
ask “What field?” she buzzed for Carrie. “Send Mr. Feiticeiro
in, please.”

In the anteroom of the Mayor’s
office, Carrie giggled and removed her mouth from Bruce’s cock with a pop.
“Sorry Master, I guess I didn’t finish in time,” she said.

He patted her head. “I’ll cum
on you later,” he said. “Duty calls.” He tucked his cock back
into his fly and zipped it up, then walked to the doors of the Mayor’s private
conference room. Now the real work could begin.

* * *

Morgan slammed her fist on her desk
in frustration. Next to her keyboard, the untouched, long-turned-cold cup of
coffee bounced and a little splashed over the side.

Nothing. No matches for the mystery
man’s face in any criminal databases she could access. Nothing in the DMV files
she wasn’t supposed to be able to access–which meant he was either from out of
state or didn’t have an ID.

Her phone rang, and grumpily, she
picked it up. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Um, eleven in the
morning?” replied the voice of her old school friend Meghan.

Morgan looked up and blinked at the
dusty sunlight coming in through the window. “Fuck, really?” Had she
worked all night and well into the morning? Wouldn’t be the first time, but
still. She sighed. “What’s up?”

“Bruce Feiti–shoot, I have no
idea how to pronounce this. I’ll just forward you the press release.”

Morgan sighed again. She thought
about telling Meghan to fuck off, but… Meghan was a junior reporter on the
City desk of the Times, and Morgan was a PI. They had access to very
different sources of information, which meant they very often had tips
to help each other with their jobs. Plus, she was a friend, and Morgan didn’t
actually have very many of those.

And most of the ones I do have, I
made through Lawrence… She shoved
the thought away and looked at the email.

It was about the launch of a City
Hall task force to investigate the explosions that had been happening the last
few days–Explosions, plural? Guess I should have been watching the news–headed
by some guy named Feiticeiro.

“What about it?” she
asked, already bored and wishing she could get back to tracking Mystery Man and
finding out what the fuck he was doing in that video.

“I’m trying to figure out who
he is,” Meghan replied. “You don’t just come out of nowhere and get
put in charge of a crisis task force, but I can’t find anything on him.
There’s only a handful of Feiticeiros in the country, none named Bruce, and as
near as I can tell, none anywhere near here. They’re mostly in Rhode
Island.”

“You think it’s a fake
name?”

“Yeah,” said Meghan.
“But there’s no way City Hall would put someone they didn’t know on
a task force like this… I smell shenanigans.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. Only Meghan
would say shenanigans to mean corruption, conspiracy, and cover-up.
It was a good thing her editor wrote all her headlines. “I guess I can
look into things if you–” She froze, staring at the picture attached to
the press release. “Holy shit.”

“Morgan?”

“Is that him?” she asked,
hardly daring to breathe. “In the group shot of the task force, next to
the Mayor?" 

"Yeah,” said Meghan.
“Why, do you know him?”

“No. But I may have a lead.
I’ll get back to you.” She hung up, still staring at the man in the photo.
No question: it was definitely her Mystery Man.

“Feiticeiro,” she said
quietly. Even a fake name was a start.

* * *

Janelle moaned as mini-orgasm after
mini-orgasm exploded through her, one every time her Master thrust into her.

She’d taken intense pleasure in
watching him dismiss all questions about his appointment with a word, instantly
overcoming that room full of old men and proving what she’d always known, that
they were weak. Now they did what he ordered, just like her, but they took no
special pleasure in it–they neither resisted nor were rewarded for obeying,
they simply did. The same was true of the other women she’d seen service Master–Carrie,
or that young brunette she vaguely recognized as Teisdale’s daughter.

Janelle was different. Janelle had
fought, still fought. Something inside her screamed at her every moment,
that this was all wrong, that she needed to stop obeying, needed to resist.

But Master had given her everything
she needed to overcome that part of herself. Every act of obedience to him was
pure pleasure, and every burst of pleasure made the voice of resistance inside
her a little weaker. The more she obeyed, the better she felt, and the better
she felt, the more submissive she became. That was the reward for her strength:
the pleasure to silence her resistance.

And now? Master had ordered her to
fuck him, and with every stroke he fucked the pleasure into her, fucked obedience
into her. She knew that when he came, his will would fill her at last, and the
last of her resistance would be gone.

But the reward of pleasure would
remain.

Bruce was enjoying himself as well.
But like every time he used his slaves–as he did every waking moment–he was
plotting, scheming, analyzing ways to make the present moment work toward his
grand design. The woman was on the verge of collapse. Fucking her will away
completely would release powerful energies–energies that he could use.

He was still frustrated that the
Beast had overcome the new magical girl, disrupting his plan to locate her.
After being fully sated by a magical girl’s unlimited life force twice in such
rapid succession, it would be unlikely to return for some time. But with this
energy he could pull it back, force it to pursue her again.

Hopefully this time he’d be able to
track it. Damn the Beasts and their chaotic, unpredictable magic!

He came with a grunt, and Janelle
screamed in ecstasy. He felt her resistance crumbling, and deftly reached in to
drain away that energy. He stood, leaving her panting, dripping, full of his
cum and empty of everything else.

He had work to do.

* * *

Cynthia woke with a start and stared
panting at the top bunk. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. 

It’s  coming back, she thought. It’s too soon. She didn’t question how
she  knew; perhaps the women in the dream told her, or perhaps it was some
 part of the curse.

Much later she would come to
 know that the answer was both. But this night, she could only
 guess–and in any case, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that the
 Beast was near–and it was coming for her. 

She sat bolt upright. It’s coming
HERE! How many people would it kill? 

I  could protect them. The thought came unbidden and she shied  immediately
away from it. If she became Syn again, she knew she would  try to stay
Syn. It felt too good to stop. And if she stayed Syn, who  knew what could
happen?

No. As much as some  dark,
deep-down part of her wanted to, she couldn’t. Which meant the  only thing
she could do was wait here and let it kill her and who knew  how many
other people–Wait. No.

If it killed  her here,
surrounded by teen girls… The curse would pass on to one of  her
classmates. It might even fall on Ruthie. She couldn’t do that.  There was
only one option: she had to run. 

No  time to dress. The
sweatpants and t-shirt she’d gone to bed with would  have to do. The
nuns will kill me, she thought, slipping out into the  hallway.
…if I ever come back…

As the  door quietly closed
behind her, there was a rustling in the top bunk.  Ruthie sat up as well.
She stared after Cynthia a moment, and then  climbed down the bunk bed’s
ladder.

* * *

She  was probably going to die.
If she didn’t… She’d have to keep running  forever, trying to stay ahead
of the Beast. She had no other options.

Cynthia  paused at a street
corner, panting. She had no idea where she was–this  neighborhood was completely
unfamiliar, a run-down, graffiti-splattered  block of boarded up windows
and half-collapsed old buildings. 

It  was close. She could feel
it. She’d run as fast and as far as she  could, but she couldn’t run
anymore–and it was closer than ever. 

Syn  could outrun it, that treacherous voice inside her said. Syn is much
 faster, and never gets tired. Cynthia shut her eyes. She refused to
 become Syn–and that meant she was going to die very soon. Was that
 really what she wanted?

“Cynthia!” The familiar
voice rang out, and she opened her eyes again. “What’re you doing, can’t
you feel it coming?”

“Yes,” Cynthia panted.
“I know.”

“Then transform, you stupid
girl! You have to fight it!”

“I won’t!” She balled up
her fists and glared down at Grankitty. “I never will again!”

Grankitty sighed. “I know how
you feel, child, truly I do, but do you understand what you’re saying?”

“I’ll die,” Cynthia
answered simply. “I’m not afraid.”

“You  will, and yes you
are. But you think dying will set you free? It won’t.  You’ll become like
me, bound to the next girl for as long as she needs  you. I don’t mind,
though I wish you wouldn’t keep leaving me behind.  But I’ve always been
fond of you, and you’ve always been a good girl.  Whoever the curse passes
to next… Might not be. Will you apologize to  her? Tell her that she
carries the curse now because you gave up without  a fight?”

“I…” Cynthia began.
“I didn’t think about that.”

“I know,” Grankitty said.
“It’s okay. But… You have to decide. It’s close.”

Even  without her strange sense
of the Beast’s nearness, Cynthia would have  known that. She could feel
the pounding of its feet as it ran through  back streets and alleys. She
gulped. “Will… Will you help me?” she  asked Grankitty. It was
clear to both of them what she meant–not just  advise her in the fight,
but help keep her from losing her will. 

“Of course. It’s what I’m here
for.”

Cynthia nodded. How do I– she
thought, but it was like wondering how to breathe. She just had to not choose
not to do it. 

She  gasped as those waves of
pleasure and delight filled her, as light and  dark magic swirled around
her. Once again her body changed, her features  shifting into doll-like
perfection, her hair into effortlessly tumbling  golden waves, her legs
lengthening, her breasts swelling until her  t-shirt strained to contain
them. It changed, too, becoming thinner,  clingier, the hem rising to
expose her navel and the neckline plunging  to show a nigh-obscene
quantity of cleavage. Her sweats dwindled away to  almost nothing, a tiny
pair of shorts that barely covered her ass. 

Syn  grinned, reveling in the
intense feeling of being herself. Why did I  ever fight this? she
wondered. I feel so alive, so powerful… So  horny…

Then she heard the scream, and the
 roar. Pausing only to scoop up Grankitty and drop the plush toy into her
 cleavage, she raced at top speed toward the source of the sound. 

What  she saw as she rounded
the corner horrified her enough to momentarily  break through the sheet
joy of her transformation: Ruthie, gripped in  the claws of that hideous
monster, screaming, sobbing, struggling, and  utterly unable to break
free. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The worst was that she was too far
away. Syn leaped as hard as she could toward the Beast, hit the ground running,
and sprinted toward it… but it was already tearing Ruthie’s clothing away
with its claws. She had no time…

“Syn!” gasped Grankitty
from her cleavage. “Quickly–your power! You can attack with light! No
time for practice, just do it, get its attention!”

Syn tried. She had no idea what to
do, but then she had no idea how she did any of what she did. She just
knew. She raised a hand as she ran and pushed it toward the Beast, imagining a
ball of blazing light flying out to strike it.

The Beast finished tearing Ruthie’s
clothes off and grasped her legs, one in each claw, prying them apart. She had
gone limp, trembling occasionally from the sobs that wracked her but no longer
fighting.

Syn tried, desperately, again. No
light flared out again. She closed her eyes, briefly, trying to concentrate,
but she couldn’t. She couldn’t shake an image, a fragment of half-remembered
dream–a warm, gentle hand, and a whisper. A warning, and…

Her eyes flew open, blazing a
brilliant blue. She stopped runnign and stood straight and tall, her left arm
held out in front of her at face height, her right drawing back at shoulder
level. “Light of the fallen!” she cried, the words welling up inside
her. “Guide my aim!” Light flickered fitfully between her hands, and
at right angles to that, outlining the vague shapes of a bow and an arrow.
“Shooting… Star…” The light concentrated, focused, pulling in
from all around her, until the blazing white bow and arrow looked almost solid.
“…BOW!”

She loosed the arrow. It flew,
perfectly straight and blindingly fast, into the Beast. The Beast dropped
Ruthie, turned toward Syn, opened its mouth to roar…

And exploded in a burst of pure
white light, howling in agony as it died. When it was over, nothing of the
Beast remained but a wisp of smoke.

* * *

In the Mayor’s office, Bruce swore
in three dead languages and two living ones, one of them human, and punched a
wall. “First she’s defeated,” he ranted, “and now she wins too
quickly!”

He glared at the still-limply
blissed-out Janelle as if it were her doing. “How? How does a girl
transformed for only the second time, in only her second battle, not only
manifest light but fully materialize and weaponize it? What is
she?”

He closed his eyes, took a deep
breath, forced himself to calm down. So. The girl had talent. Perhaps she was
unusually good at tapping into that which powered the magical girl, or perhaps
she had some small gift of her own that interacted positively with those
powers. Either way, it made her even more of a prize–and meant even more power
for him once he had her in his grasp.

He smiled thinly. One thing was
certain. “She will be mine.”

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Lawrence stared at Grankitty. She met his gaze calmly, as only a stuffed
animal with plastic eyes can.

“You’re talking,” he said.

“I am,” she replied. 

Next to him, Syn shifted and murmured sleepily. 

“I’m talking to a stuffed animal.”

“That you are.”

“I’m dreaming,” Lawrence said firmly. 

“No you’re not.”

“Well, I’m not talking to a stuffed animal, that’s crazy!”

“Don’t be daft, talking to a stuffed animal doesn’t mean you’re crazy.
You’re only crazy if it talks back.”

Before Lawrence could say anything, she
turned to look at the sleeping Syn, then back at him. “Lost no time in
availing yourself of your property, I see,” she said, voice dripping in
contempt. 

“It’s not like that!” Lawrence protested. “It’s
complicated.”

“Oh?” asked Grankitty. “Seems simple enough to me.”

“She–!” he began, and then stopped. “No, it is simple,”
he admitted. “I wasn’t sure if it was right, but I wanted her, and she
wanted me… Was made to want me.”

“Hmm,” said Grankitty. “So you might have a spec of humanity
in you after all.” She sighed. “If you could, would you release
her?”

Lawrence looked at Syn. Asleep, her peaceful face looked even younger than
she was. He remembered the previous night, the intensity, the energy, the sheer
pleasure of it. But… “Yes,” he said finally, though part of him was
screaming in his head that only an idiot would let someone like Syn go.

Grankitty studied him in silence for a while. “I believe you,” she
said finally. “Good. You should know, then, that sometime soon the same
monster that dropped a building on you is going to return.”

“What!?”

Next to Lawrence, Syn sat up, blinking sleepily, her tousled blonde hair
arranging itself perfectly to make her look recently fucked. Which of course
she was, but her hair shouted it to the world.

“Is something wrong, Master?” she asked. Then her eyes focused on
Grankitty. “Oh,” she said. 

“‘Oh,’” Grankitty mocked. “So were you going to tell him the
rules?”

Syn looked away. “If he asked.”

“Well of course if he asked, you’re his slave! But were you
ever going to volunteer?”

“Wait, rules?” asked Lawrence. “What rules?”

Syn sighed deeply. “If I touch someone’s cum, I become that person’s
slave. But if I go a whole day without cumming, I stop being Syn, and I stop
being a slave, even I I turn into Syn again. But Master, please don’t–”

“And that’s the only way to free you?” Lawrence asked. 

“Yes,” said Syn miserably. 

“No,” said Grankitty at the same moment. 

“Wait, what?” asked Syn.

Grankitty put her hands on her hips, or tried to. Seeing as her limbs were
just stubs of cloth and fluff, the effect was more adorable than intimidating.
“If you wouldn’t keep running away every five seconds, child, I would have
had time to tell you about the Beasts by now!”

“Beasts?” asked Lawrence. 

“You mean like that thing that… uh…” said Syn. 

“That killed me, yes,” said Grankitty. “It comes with curse.
The Beasts are beings of pure chaos that feed on life itself. They devour the
life force of anyone they get their hands on–”

Lawrence scoffed. “Life force?”

“Yes, life force!” Grankitty snapped. “Same thing that keeps
me moving–my soul’s bound to Syn as long as she needs me, so her life force
animates this doll and my spirit controls it.”

“Wait, I’m doing that?” Syn brushed her sex-tangled mass of blonde
hair back, and it snapped into perfect, flowing waves that cascaded over her
shoulders. “I thought you were… I dunno, a ghost or something.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Grankitty. “There’s no such thing as
ghosts.”

“No, of course there aren’t,” Lawrence muttered. “That’d be
silly.”

“Hush,” said Grankitty. “The point is, Beasts are powerful,
nasty things, and they kill people. Lots of people. Suck them dry. But Syn is
different. Your strength, your healing–your life force is inexhaustible. Any
Beast that tries to feed on you will drown in it, lose its grip on this world,
and be forced back to where it came from.”

“Like when that thing fucked you!” Syn said brightly. It was
strange to hear herself say the word, when a day earlier she would have been much
more reluctant to say it than to mention Grankitty’s death. But she couldn’t
remember why it should bother her–it was a good word, a fun word, like
“pussy” or “Master.” Mmm… Master.

“Yes,” said Grankitty. “It got the best of me, drank its
fill, and left–but in so doing it also broke the magic that made me Kat, and
turned me back into old Granny Kathryn. And then, well, old Granny Kathryn hit
the ground.”

“This is completely insane,” said Lawrence.

“Well, there are two possibilities, then,” said Grankitty.
“Either you don’t know everything about the world, or you’ve gone mad.
Which do you prefer?” She stared at Lawrence a moment, daring him to
speak. “That’s what I thought.”

“Okay, so a Beast can turn me back, but what are the odds of that
happening?”

* * *

53 years earlier…

The woman was clearly out of place. Pale beneath her freckles, beautiful,
her bright red hair and clothes just a little too nice for a dive bar in a coal
mining town. She appeared to be in her late 20s, maybe early 30s, but something
about the look in her eyes and the way she moved suggested she might be
considerably older than that.

Kathryn was, in fact, 45, but since the day she’d turned 18, more than half
her time had spent in the ageless, changeless form of Kat, hence her much
younger appearance. She’d enjoyed it at first–the adventure, the excitement,
the sex. But in time the danger, the inability to stay in one place, and the
isolation took their toll.

She’d tried to run. The Beasts still came for her. Wherever she was, that
was where they would attack, and if she fled, they would follow. Slowly,
stopping to kill everyone they could on the way, but inevitably. She’d taken to
wandering the back roads and the small towns, trying to minimize the damage.

She’d taken to drinking. It didn’t matter anyway–even as Kathryn, she
couldn’t get sick, and that apparently included the longer-term effects of
drinking too much, from hangovers to heart problems. And if a Beast showed up,
the instant she became Kat any drunkenness would evaporate away.

Even drunk, though, she heard the thumping footfalls outside, the shouts,
the screams. Another one had found her.

As the few bar patrons–at four in the afternoon, there weren’t
many–started to realize what was happening and panic, she calmly walked out,
transforming as she stepped through the door. Her red hair unrolled from its
bun into a waist-length cascade of scarlet; her modish sweater and slacks
became a black corset and fishnets, idealized versions of the outfit she’d worn
as a burlesque dancer, back when the curse first found her in ’38.

She began to run toward the noise of the Beast. It wasn’t hard to find as it
smashed its way through the woody hillside. She caught it with a kick in its
head, driving it back, then another in its gut, but it soon swung back with a clawed
blow across her torso that shredded her corset and dug into the flesh beneath.

She sprang back, healing almost instantly, and then resumed her attack. Both
combatants were inexhaustible, both determined, both strong; it was only a
question of who would make a mistake first.

But Kat had an advantage. Her senses had encompassed the area the moment she
transformed, and she had a plan. She drove the creature back slowly, toward an
abandoned mine, its coal deposits long ago exhausted. Again and again she pushed
the creature back, unrelenting, and finally, with one last kick, she caused it
to stumble backwards into the mineshaft.

It screamed as it fell into the darkness, and then it was gone.

* * *

“Then I collapsed the mine on top of it,” Grankitty said as she
finished her story. “I hung around for a while, but there was no sign of
it. I thought I’d killed it, so I moved on… but then the next one never
came.”

“Next one?” Lawrence asked.

“There’s always a next one,” Grankitty said. “A Beast’ll keep
coming back until you kill it, and once you do, you get a respite for a
while–but then the next Beast comes, stronger than the one before. But that
never happened, and I realized I’d trapped the Beast. Years and years went by,
and I got to get old at a normal person’s pace! But in the end… it must have
dug for decades, but it finally got loose and came for me.”

“How did it know?” Syn asked.

Grankitty shrugged. “Even when you’re not transformed, the magic’s
still there. Dormant, but there. Maybe the Beast senses that somehow.”

For some time now, there had been sirens outside. But that was a normal part
of living in the city, and all three had instinctively ignored them. But they
were getting closer now, louder, and there seemed to be a lot of them. A
resounding crash echoed from outside, and buried in it, the sound of a howling,
animalistic roar.

Grankitty raced to the window. “It can’t be!” she said. “We
should have time! Weeks, or at least days! How is it back already!?”

Syn sprang up on the bed. For a moment she stood there naked, but then light
pulsed around her, and she was back in her normal slutty schoolgirl ensemble.
“Don’t worry, Master,” she said. “I’ll protect you!”

“Wait!” Lawrence sat up as well. “If this thing drains her,
she goes free and it stops hurting people for a while, right?”

“Yes,” said Grankitty. “But–”

“Great! Syn, go out there and let it drain you!”

“Yes, Master,” Syn said cheerfully.

“Wait!” Grankitty scrambled after Syn, but it was too late. She
had already run through the still-open balcony door and jumped off.

Grankitty turned back to Lawrence. “What have you done, you
idiot!?”

Below, Syn landed in the parking lot outside Lawrence’s apartment. She ran
toward the sounds of destruction, laughing at the joyous energy filling her. It
had felt good to exert herself on her own account, but doing it as part of an
order from her Master? Her blood fizzed and sizzled with pleasure, a bursting,
happy heat the filled her entire being.

She leaped over a wall and landed in an alleyway just in time to see the
Beast flatten a police car. It turned to her and roared, stepping forward. She
braced herself, muscle memory she hadn’t had a day ago reminding her of how to
fight it.

But she couldn’t. As the hulking brute approached her, she froze, her
Master’s order echoing in her head. Clawed hands grasped her shoulders, forced
her onto her back in the alleyway, and she complied. Somewhere inside her was
fear and disgust at the huge, hairy, scaly monstrosity, and at the massive
phallus protruding between its legs, but over top of that was the pleasure of
obedience.

The necessity of obedience. I have to let it drain me, she
thought. I have to let it fuck me.

There was nothing under her skirt, of course. Her back arched as the
enormous cock slid into her. She was always wet, and despite its size it
couldn’t hurt her, and the hot fizzing pleasure of obedience merged with the
feeling of it filling her, pumping her, using her.

It moved faster and faster, driving her higher and higher. It was nothing
like fucking her Master. That was pure, sacred joy; this was something lower,
older, deeper. She was draining away into it, her thoughts slowing, her
strength fading. With every thrust of its hips, she grew weaker and limper.
Every time its accelerating strokes bottomed out inside her, it got harder to
think.

There was no need to think; she could simply feel. And it felt so very good
to let go, to sink into the dark pleasure of being used, the rising, growing,
intensifying pleasure that built and built and built and then–

Syn cried out. The Beast roared, arching back as it drove into her one last
time, its entire massive phallus disappearing up into her–and then it dissolved
into a cloud of dark, crackling energy, dissipated, and was gone.

* * *

Blocks away, the last wizard cursed in an ancient tongue. As the single
sharp syllable struck it, the pavement at his feet cracked. Reaching beneath
his shirt, he pulled out an amulet on a chain. More or less circular, it was in
the form of two stylized wings, one black, one white, curling around one
another. He flipped it over and examined the ancient script engraved into its
back–but already the thin golden tracery was fading away, the long-dormant
power behind it returning to sleep now that the one it sought was no longer
near.

He needed the new girl to win! Trailing a Beast could get him close to her,
but he wasn’t about to risk challenging one for possession of her–that was what
magical girls were for, after all. But the amulet was useless on her
human form! If she’d killed the beast and remained in her magical girl form, it
would be a different story, but now? Now there was nothing to do but wait for
her to transform again.

Scowling in frustration, he looked up from the amulet to see a couple emerge
from a nearby bar. One was a man of perhaps 40, or a well-preserved 45, in an
expensive-looking suit; the woman he had his arm around was 15 or 20 years
younger, tall and curvaceous, poured into a little black dress that shimmered
in the streetlights.

Well, there was always one way to relieve some frustration. He walked up to
the couple and planted himself in their path. “You’re going to give me
your woman,” he said to the man.

“Excuse me?” The man moved forward slightly, putting himself
between the wizard and the woman.

“His woman?” said the woman at the same time.

“Give her to me,” the wizard repeated, layering a touch of power
into his voice. 

It didn’t take much. “She’s all yours,” the man said, letting go
of her and stepping out of the way.

“What the fuck, Harold?” The woman took a step back from both of
them and raised her hands. “I told you, no weird shit!”

“Go away, Harold,” said the wizard, and the man left.

The woman stared after him, then at the wizard, her eyes wide in growing
fear. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but–”

“I want you on your knees.”

She hardly realized she was obeying; his dark eyes were just suddenly a head
above her instead of a foot below, and she could feel the cold roughness of the
sidewalk through the thin material of her sheer hose.

He laid his hand against her cheek, and she gasped at the warm pleasure
spreading outward from his touch. “What are you– how are you–”

“Silence,” he ordered, and her voice died away.

Terror made her eyes huge and round. Was there any limit on what he could
make her do?

“Suck my cock,” he ordered, and she tried to will her hands to
stay still, to not unzip his fly, reach into his pants, fish out his pe–his cock.

She couldn’t stop herself. Couldn’t even slow herself. Couldn’t even think
of it as anything but his cock–the moment he called it that, that was what it
was. Everything he said was true, even if it hadn’t been a moment before, and
that was horrific.

“My control over you excites you,” he said as she put her lips
around his cock and started to suckle.

Horrific and hot. She moaned as she took his cock deeper into her
mouth. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t help herself, and that turned her on–and
that arousal was unnatural, something he had put there, and that turned her on
even more.

“The more you obey, the better it feels.” He placed his hands on
her head and began fucking her face.

With every moment she spent sucking him, she became more excited, hotter.
She shouldn’t enjoy this–it was wrong, evil, she was being used–but she was
ordered to, and obeying that order felt good because she was ordered to feel
good, and obeying that order felt good, and…

“If you spit out my seed,” he said, “you will never be able
to speak of this, but you will walk away free. If you swallow it, you will be
my slave, and obey me–joyfully, with every fiber of your being–for the rest
of your days. The choice is yours.”

And then her mouth was full of his hot, sticky, salty-sweet cum. He pulled
out, and she stared up at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she swallowed.

* * *

Cynthia lay curled on her side in the alleyway. She was herself again, her
clothes, her body, her mind, everything back to normal.

But she remembered. She remembered everything she felt, everything she said,
everything she did, while she was Syn. She remembered everything that had been
done to her.

A hand touched her shoulder. She looked up to see Lawrence leaning over her,
and screamed, flinching away. 

Lawrence took a step back. “Jesus, she’s just a kid!”

Grankitty hopped down from his shoulder. “Don’t worry, she’s 18.”

Lawrence stared. “Oh God, I didn’t even think about that! I just
meant–we have to help her!" 

He reached for her, but she shied away again. "Don’t touch me!”

He snatched his hand back as if burned. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“I–I mean I didn’t–we…”

“Shut up,” said Grankitty. “Cynthia, child, are you
hurt?”

Cynthia shook her head. “Grankitty…” she whimpered. “The
curse…”

“I know,” said Grankitty. “It… gets easier.”

Cynthia pulled the stuffed animal into her arms and curled up once more into
fetal position with Grankitty at the center. Then she began to sob.

* * *

Morgan tossed irritably in her bed. She couldn’t sleep. She kept replaying
her fight with Lawrence over again in her mind.

She’d always wondered why so many of her clients were so stupid, why so many
of them took so long to see the obvious, or hesitated to leave their spouses
after Morgan brought them ironclad proof of infidelity. Some of them hired her
because they’d got their partners cheating before and suspected they were at it
again, which of course they always were–but what did they expect after
forgiving them the first time?

But she understood a little better, now. She missed Lawrence.

She was furious at him, certain she was never going to forgive him for
running around behind her back with that little blonde bitch… but she missed
him. Missed the good times, the comfort, his warm body lying next to hers, his
arms around her.

None of which meant she would go crawling back to him. Unlike her clients,
she wasn’t stupid. But none of that made it easier to go back to
sleep.

With a groan, she sat up. Might as well get some work done. She slid out of
bed, took the five steps to her computer, and began going through her feeds.
She had a half-dozen spycams–battery-powered, weather-resistant, wi-fi-enabled
little things–hidden around the city, all streaming to her computer around the
clock.

She skimmed through them quickly, running through the last few hours at 30x
speed, pausing whenever she saw a potentially familiar face. The first three
turned up nothing, but the fourth? That struck gold.

She’d been hoping it would. The client suspected her husband of cheating,
and had found an expensive bar in his credit card history. Morgan had set up
her camera to watch the place’s entrance, hoping to catch hubby in the act.

And here he was, walking out with some little bimbo half his age hanging on
his arm. Morgan had to admit he had good taste, the girl was cute. But it was
simple enough to grab a few frames where his face was clear, to show her
client. A divorce lawyer would have a field day with them.

She let the stream play a little farther, hoping to get a really good face
shot, and then things got weird. Some other man, a wiry little guy, walked up
to them, and hubby got all defensive of his side piece–until he suddenly
stopped and walked away.

“What the fuck?” asked Morgan out loud.

She watched as the girl’s body language went from obvious fright to… well,
to dropping to her knees and sucking the little guy’s cock. Had he threatened
them? Morgan couldn’t see a weapon, but maybe it was small enough to hide in
his palm, or under his jacket or something.

Except after the girl finished and stood, she very clearly smiled.
Then she took the man’s arm and they walked out of the camera’s field of view.

Morgan looked at her screengrabs. What she captured from before the other
guy showed up would be more than enough for her client. There was no reason to
look into it any further.

But she still backed up the stream a minute or two and grabbed a few frames
that showed the little guy’s face. The job was taken care of, but now she had a
mystery, and that was even better than a job.

Plus, she hadn’t thought of Lawrence once since the stream got weird. She
needed this.

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Lawrence sat on his bed and tried to think. What was he going to do? Some hot young thing declares me her Master, tells me she’ll do anything I want, and she’s obviously got one thing in mind… He knew what most men would do in his situation.

But he tried not to be most men. He had a fiancee–had being the operative word–that he loved, and he would never, ever cheat on her. It had been so much work getting Morgan to trust him! She worked as a PI, so more half the time her job was to take photographs of a cheating spouse on behalf of their jealous significant other. She and Lawrence got on well, but she shied away from commitment, convinced that betrayal was always just around the corner. It had taken years of patient, loving loyalty to convince her to accept his proposal, and now all of that was gone.

He leaned around the bookshelf to look at the girl, or at least the back of her head. She was sitting patiently, exactly as he’d told her to. Her head bobbed side to side ever so slightly, her pigtails bouncing in their little pink bows, as she bopped along to the memory of some song.

Syn was aware her Master was looking at her. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew. She wished she could pose for him, but he had ordered her to sit quietly, and so quietly sit she would.

But there had to be some way to get his attention, some way to get him to use her. She knew he was upset with her for causing his fiancee to dump him, and hurting Master was the worst thing imaginable. She had to heal him, just like she’d healed him after that monster hurt him–and preferably through the same methods.

Her thoughts turned to the ways he might use her, and she rubbed her hands slowly up her thighs, under her skirt. Please take me, she thought. Use me, order me… She sighed and let her head fall back on the couch. She raised one hand slowly, languorously over her bare belly to her blouse, and began to rub her breast through it, imagining that it was her Master’s hand.

Lawrence watched, open-mouthed. He couldn’t see much of the show, but he could see more than enough to know what was going on. “Please,” he said. “Stop.”

Immediately, Syn straightened up and placed her hands back in her lap. An explosion of happiness burst through her at being given a command to obey, almost enough to overwhelm the disappointment she felt at not being able to continue.

Almost.

“What, um, what is your name, again?” Lawrence asked.

“Syn, Master,” she replied.

“Do you have to call me that?” he asked. It was really unnerving to hear that sweet voice say such an unsettling word, and directed at him, no less!

Syn thought about it a moment. “Yes,” she said finally. “Unless you order me to call you something else, then I have to obey that.” She smiled. A chance for another command! “Is there something else you’d like me to call you, Master?”

“Please just call me Lawrence,” he said tiredly.

“Yes, Lawrence,” she said, smiling.

Lawrence shivered. Everything about the way she said it, other than the word itself, sounded exactly like she was saying “Master.” Hearing his name like that was worse than having her call him her Master–it made him feel like he actually was.

He looked down. One part of him liked that idea a great deal. Irritably, he pushed aside the memory of how he’d woken up after the building collapsed on him, and tried to focus on the unanswered questions. “I was hurt, wasn’t I?” he asked. “How come I’m fine now?”

“I healed you, Lawrence,” said Syn.

“How?” He stood and walked back around to the couch–there was no point in having this conversation with the back of her head.

“Magic,” she answered.

He stood next to the couch, at the far end from her, and stared. “Magic?” he repeated.

Syn nodded. “Yes, Lawrence.”

“What exactly did you do?”

She turned her head to look up at him, and smiled through her lashes. “I climbed on top of you and rode your cock, Lawrence, until we both came,” she said sweetly.

He reddened. “I… I remember.” Magic, though. Magic?

“The magic is why you own me, too,” she said. “It made me yours.”

He stared at her a long moment, then shook his head. “No, this is crazy. You’re… you’re a disturbed young woman, acting out some kind of fantasy… I’ll call the hospital, I have friends who work in the psych ward and they–” He broke off. Syn’s huge blue eyes were welling up in tears.

“No, no, please don’t cry!” he said. He looked around frantically for a box of tissues. Finding none, he grabbed a fresh roll of toilet paper out of the linen closet, then sat on the couch and held it out to her. “What’s wrong?”

“Please don’t send me away!” she begged, dabbing at her eyes. “I just want to stay by your side and serve you, please! I’ll do anything you want!”

Lawrence sighed. “I know you feel that way, Syn, but there’s no magic spell making you obey me. You know magic isn’t real, right?”

“It is real!” Syn insisted. “I can prove it!”

“Really?” Lawrence countered. “Do it.”

Before he could stop her, Syn ran to the balcony and jumped off.

* * *

Mayor Lumley gazed out the window over her city. She loved the view from here–in fact, she’d had the mayoral offices moved from the old city hall to the space the city rented in this skyscraper just so she could get a view like it. Her city spread out below her like a map, its lights, its streets, its people, all buzzing away, living and working and thriving.

They’d said she couldn’t do it. She was too young, they said, only 37 when she announced her candidacy, and too inexperienced, with only three years as a city councilor and a decade before that as a community organizer. They didn’t say it, but she knew what else they were thinking, too: too black, too female, too working-class.

But she proved them wrong. She convinced the business leaders she would keep their profits high, charmed and schmoozed her way to those fat donation checks, and then took to the streets with her message of renewal and construction and opportunity.

And here she was, mayor of a major metropolitan city, approval ratings high, and not even 40 yet. And with the ties she was forming, there were more opportunities on the horizon–Governor, Senator, maybe even higher than that. “First black woman President of the United States” had a very nice ring to it.

Her phone buzzed, and she pressed the button to answer it. “What is it, Carrie?” she asked.

“Um, your…” Carrie was audibly out of breath, and she interrupted herself with what almost sounded like a muffled giggle. “There’s someone here to see you.”

Lumley sighed. “It’s past seven, Carrie, I’ve finished all my meetings for the day. Tell them to make an appointment.”

“It’s very–oh!–very urgent.” Lumley stared at her phone. This wasn’t like Carrie at all. She was normally very professional, not all breathy and giggly.

“Fine, send them in,” Lumley said. She smoothed down her skirt and patted her hair–everything had to be in place, because the world was always watching, always judging.

Carrie walked in looking–well, if Lumley hadn’t known better, she’d have said she looked groped. Several locks of her blonde hair had escaped from her usual neat bun, including one that dangled down the side of her face, her cream-colored button-down blouse was askew, and Lumley couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she might not be wearing a bra.

Behind her walked a rather short man, pale, with straight dark hair and eyes, wearing an impeccably neat navy suit. He didn’t look particularly important or interesting–quite the opposite, actually, he looked like someone whose own mother would have trouble picking him out of a police lineup–but something about the way he carried himself suggested power. This was someone who had the power to fear nothing, who hadn’t heard the word “no” in years.

Lumley allowed herself an inward sigh and repressed the urge to roll her eyes. The farther up she got in politics the more men like that she met–and inevitably they turned out to be weak, privileged crybabies, so used to power and ease that they crumpled at the first sign of difficulty or opposition.

Still, it never hurt to be cordial to them, at least at first. They could be useful, if you steered them with a gentle enough hand. “Janelle Lumley,” she said, holding out a hand to shake. “Pleased to meet you, Mr…?”

He took her hand and kissed it. She’d had him pegged as Asian, but maybe he was European? “Bruce Feiticeiro,” he said. “We have an appointment tomorrow afternoon.”

“Feiticeiro,” she said, thinking. “I’m sorry, but I can’t place the name.”

“I added him to your appointment calendar earlier today, ma’am,” Carrie said. “He’s a construction contractor working with Mr. Teisdale.”

“Ah,” said Lumley, nodding. Teisdale was one of the richest men in the city and a major campaign contributor. Of course, he’d contributed just as much to her opponent’s campaign, but that was the point–most of the city’s wealthy had assumed she would lose, and given her campaign a lot less than old Mayor Grunby’s. “Well, any friend of Mr. Teisdale is a friend of mine, but you’re almost a full day early. Why the visit?”

Bruce smiled, and Lumley had to suppress a shiver. Something about him creeped her out, some sense that he was used to power in ways beyond even her ambitions. “Tomorrow is the official meeting, when you create a position for me with the access and power I require. Tonight is when I enslave you and give you your orders for that meeting.”

“When you what!?” Lumley demanded, but then his power struck her like a physical blow. It tore through the layers of Mayor Lumley and down into Janelle beneath, spreading around her like a warm and comforting blanket, a soft, gentle, yet irresistible urge to worship this man.

But Janelle fought back.

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “You are strong indeed, young Janelle,” he said. “You must have a will of iron, to resist my power.”

“Nobody…” she said through gritted teeth. “Nobody tells me… what to do.”

“Of course this is only a fraction of the power I could bring to bear,” Bruce continued, “but the full force of my magic might break your mind, and I need it intact. You are far too public a figure to risk damaging. Carrie, help persuade Janelle that she needs to stop fighting.”

Carrie walked up to Janelle and began removing her jacket. “Please…” Janelle said, struggling to speak while still fighting the insidiously soft, warm pressure inside her skull. “Carrie…”

“Sorry, boss, I belong to Master now,” she said cheerfully. “Trust me, you’ll be so happy once you do, too!” She continued methodically stripping Janelle, who was too busy trying to keep her mind under control to resist what was happening to her body.

Keeping up the spell wrapping around Janelle’s mind took little effort and less attention, so Bruce was able to poke around inside her mind while he did, looking for the key to her resistance. It wasn’t hard to find, since it was everywhere: ambition. Janelle lived for the climb, the ascent to power, the game of politics and status, and that was incompatible with descending into slavery.

Or would be normally. It had been a long time since Bruce owned a ruler–democracy had made it more hassle than it was worth–but there might be advantages to having the President as a slave.

Meanwhile, Carrie had pressed her clothed body against Janelle’s now-naked back and wrapped her arms around her. One of Carrie’s hands went to tease the Mayor’s small, but still high and perky, breasts, while the other descended between her legs. Carrie nibbled her boss’ ear and whispered, “When Master finally fucked me, it was like I was flying. It was the best ever. I can’t wait for you to find out how good it feels, too…”

“No…” Janelle groaned, but she couldn’t stop her assistant. It was hard to want to stop her. The stroking of her gentle fingers resonated with that warm fuzzy blanket wrapping around Janelle’s brain, and they amplified each other, making it harder to think while Carrie’s hands felt better and better.

“Don’t worry,” said Bruce. “I have no intentions of getting in the way of your career. Quite the opposite–give me what I want, and I might be able to help you.”

That was the key. Visions blossomed in her mind before she could stop them. A man with this kind of power, he could bring recalcitrant legislators to heal, persuade donors to make campaign contributions, convince rivals to back down. All she had to do was do things for him, too–it was the same quid pro quo that all of politics was built on.

And just like that, her resistance was gone. With her ambition swinging around to support the invader in her mind, what independence remained just didn’t have the votes. She surrendered.

Bruce stepped forward and pulled her into a kiss, which she eagerly returned. Carrie was right; this felt amazing. It didn’t matter what he wanted from her. Sex, favors, a job, kickbacks–she would give it to him, and love doing it.

* * *

“Syn!” Lawrence rushed to the balcony in a panic. Fearing what he might see, he leaned over the balcony and looked down.

Syn had made a perfect three-point landing in the parking lot. She looked up at Lawrence, more than forty feet above, and could see every detail of his face with perfect clarity. She smiled at the worry she saw there, and jumped back up. Lawrence barely had time to step back before Syn grabbed the edge of the balcony, flipped herself up and over it one-handed, and landed on her feet and upright directly in front of him.

“Wha… how… you…”

Syn smiled.

“Tha… that was more than four stories! Straight up! From a standing start! Nobody can jump that high!”

“Not without magic,” Syn agreed.

Lawrence stared at her wide-eyed. “So you’re saying… you have… magical powers? Of… jumping?”

“And strength, and speed, and healing, and I’m not even sure what else,” Syn said. “Also senses–I was able to feel where you were from across the city.”

Lawrence shook his head and returned to the couch. He sank into it slowly. “This is crazy.”

“It’s true though,” said Syn, following him. She descended gracefully to her knees in front of him and looked up at him in concern. “Are you okay?”

“And this same magic, it makes you… belong to me?” He couldn’t wrap his brain around it.

“Completely,” said Syn. “Utterly, totally, and happily yours.”

He looked down at that beautiful, angelic face, that infernally sexy body, and fought the urge to gulp. “Um, could you maybe, uh, not kneel?”

“Of course, Lawrence!” Syn chirped happily, and stood up. Which just put his face on a level with her bare, smooth midriff, not exactly an improvement.

“Maybe, uh, sit next to me instead?” he asked.

“Okay,” said Syn. She sat on the couch, just a little too close to Lawrence for his comfort, and again smiled that dazzling smile.

“What… what’s it like?” he asked.

“It’s wonderful,” she breathed. “I feel like there’s this fire inside me, just this infinite supply of energy. I feel bathed in love for everyone and everything. I’m constantly horny, but everything feels so good–the cloth of my blouse on my tits, the brush of my skirt against my thighs. Nothing’s as good as skin against skin, though.” She laid her hand on top of Lawrence’s, closed her eyes, and moaned softly. “So good…”

He didn’t move his hand away. “And… how you feel about, um, me?”

She opened her eyes and looked at him, her smile absolute love and joy and affection. “I love you,” she said simply. “Like I said, I love everyone, but you… you’re special. I love you completely and utterly. Nothing you do could ever be wrong. I want you to have everything you want, always. And god, you’re so hot. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. It’s like torture, every second of being near you–it’s like torture and I love it.”

“But it’s not real,” Lawrence protested, trying to ignore how hard he was getting listening to this.

“It feels real,” said Syn. “And if a feeling feels real, then it’s a real feeling, isn’t it? Please… use me, Lawrence. I need it. I need you to control me, to fuck me, to give me ord–”

Lawrence covered her mouth with his own. It was an impulse, a desire that popped into his head that he just decided to go with, without thinking about it.

Syn responded eagerly, wrapping her arms around him. Her body was so warm and soft and yielding it might as well have melted as he lowered her back onto the couch, trailing kisses down her neck as he untied her top. She threw her head back in ecstasy as his hand found her bare breast. “Lawrence!” she cried, putting every ounce of worshipful, blissful obedience she could into his name. “Please… take me!”

Fuck it, Lawrence thought. I’ve lost Morgan, Syn is here and sexy and begging for it, I want it, so why the hell am I fighting this? He scrambled out of his jeans and boxers and stroked Syn’s long, smooth thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Her skirt was already flipped up, and she wore nothing underneath it. Lawrence could see how wet she was, her voice was in his ear, just murmuring “please, Lawrence, please, Lawrence” over and over. She was begging, but it was a mantra, too–pleasing Lawrence was the thing she was begging to be allowed to do.

She cried out as he plunged into her, her eyes rolling back in her head as she immediately came. With her pussy–tight and wet, hot and slick–milking his cock eagerly, Lawrence didn’t last long, either, and soon spurted inside her with a groan, before collapsing on top of her.

The two lay together in a tangled, sweaty mess on the couch for a while. Later, their second round lasted a bit longer. On the third, they tried to make it to the bed, and managed to get halfway. The fourth was actually on the bed, and then they slept.

* * *

Bruce glanced around quickly and then ducked into an alley. It should be private enough here, he thought as he shed his suit jacket, removed his tie, and then began unbuttoning his shirt. He’d held off as long as he could, trying to get things done, but it was nearly midnight and he couldn’t keep it back much longer.

Stripped to the waist, he leaned forward and braced his hands against the wall, waiting for what he knew was coming. His back was covered by a large, elaborate tattoo, an ornate circle inscribed inside a triangle and surrounded by arcane symbols. Inside the circle was a passage of text written in a language no human tongue could pronounce, in a script no human eye save his had seen in centuries.

It began to glow. The glow soon spread, until all the lines on his back glowed the dull red of hot metal. He gritted his teeth against the burning pain, knowing it would soon be worse. The tattoo glowed brighter and hotter, until it was white-hot and dazzlingly bright. Then a massive claw emerged from his back, eliciting a grunt of pain from the wizard.

A second soon emerged as well, both on the ends of long, muscular arms, and a creature soon pulled itself through. Nine feet tall, but hunched down to about seven, massively muscled, a huge, scaly, furry round gray-green body supported by squat, thick, hairy legs. The thing stepped out into the world from the back of the mage, and at last his agony ended, the glow of the tattoo fading as the creature bounded off into the world in search of prey.

Soon, he thought. Soon I will have her once more… and soon after that I will be free.

* * *

High on the wall of Lawrence’s apartment, something banged against the air vent, from the inside, a sort of muffled thud. It repeated four more times, before finally the vent popped off and fell to the floor with a much louder clatter.

It wasn’t enough to wake Lawrence and Syn, however, sunk into the deep dreamless sleep of two people who have just spent several hours in rather strenuous, albeit extremely pleasant, exertion.

A tiny figure tumbled from vent to floor, but despite the gracelessness of its descent, it made almost no sound on impact. It made its way over to the bed, and laboriously climbed up the blanket until it reached the top. Then it climbed over Lawrence’s body until it reached his face, and slapped him.

“Wake up, ya daft great lump of a man,” said Grankitty. “We need to have a talk.”

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---

Lawrence had given up. Bleeding, exhausted, he’d finally stopped calling
for help; none was coming. The face of an angel appeared in his vision,
and he wanted to reach out to her, to beg her to take him to whatever
came next.

Instead she took out his cock.

It didn’t make any sense, but it felt good. As her lips wrapped around him, Lawrence realized he was going to die getting a blowjob from an angel. That didn’t exactly fit with his vague memories of childhood Sunday School, but given how much else they’d either gotten wrong or avoided telling him, that wasn’t surprising.

Also not surprising: it was the best blowjob of his life. If people knew this is what heaven is like, he thought, nobody would ever risk going the other way.

Then her mouth left his cock. “No,” he tried to say. “Don’t stop!” He couldn’t make more than a vague moaning sound, but she must have understood, because then she was straddling him, riding him, and as she did, strength flowed into him.

I’m alive, he thought as he began to thrust up into her. Holy shit, I’m alive! His thrusts became more energetic, more eager, and then with a groan he came, back arching as the best orgasm of his life burst through him.

Afterwards, he felt the most incredible sense of peace, a blissful drifting lassitude. What was that? he wondered. He’d heard of people having mystical near-death experiences, but he’d never heard of someone fucking an angel in one.

He opened his eyes again. A naked girl was kneeling over him, blonde and beautiful, with the same face as his “angel” but a body that suggested she came from the other direction. It was her expression, however, that made him certain she wasn’t an angel–an expression of wonder and awe, directed at him.

“Master,” she said in a voice as dark and sweet as chocolate and as hot as fudge. “Are you all right? Did it work? Did I heal you?”

Lawrence remembered something hitting him in the side, sending him sprawling. There’d been pain, and blood, and then the ceiling crashing down on him and darkness. He felt his side; his shirt was shredded and he felt the stickiness of still-drying blood, but there was no pain, no wound.

He sat up. “Who are you. What’s–how am I not injured?”

She bowed her head. “I’m Syn, Master. Unless you want to call me something else, of course! You’re not injured because I healed you.”

“Healed me?” asked Lawrence. “How did you–wait, ‘Master’?”

Syn looked at him with confusion. “I… I don’t really understand it myself, Master. I was trying to heal you, and then you came and I realized I was born to serve you and please you in every possible way, forever.”

Lawrence scrambled to his feet. “Um,” he said. He realized his dick was still hanging out of his (surprisingly, mostly intact) pants and hastily tucked it back in. He couldn’t help but notice Syn’s eyes tracking it hungrily as he did. “Did we, uh…” He could feel the blush starting. “Did we, you know, you and I…”

Syn smiled like a tropical sunrise. “Oh, yes, Master. It’s how I healed you. I hope I please you, it was wonderful for me…”

“Crap,” he said. “Okay, look, I don’t know what’s going on with this ‘Master’ shtick or what you did to make my injuries… vanish… or whatever it is you did, but I have a fiancee, okay. This didn’t… this needs to have not happened.”

Syn’s smile collapsed like a tropical republic after the CIA got involved. “I… I don’t… you don’t want me..?”

Lawrence paled. “Look, I don’t know who, or, or what you are, but I’m not… I don’t think you… I was barely conscious, okay? I didn’t mean to–I mean, I did, but I didn’t–look, I was just in an accident, I need to call my fiancee and go to a hospital.” He pulled out his phone. The screen was cracked, but otherwise it still seemed to be working.

He started to leave, and Syn flowed gracefully to her feet and followed. He stopped. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Syn blushed prettily. “I’m… going with you?” she asked. “You own me now, I need to be nearby in case you want me.”

“Um,” he said, mind whirling. Who is this girl? What’s this ‘owning her’ shit? “I told you, I have a fiancee. I need you to, to–just stay here a while, okay?”

“Yes, Master,” Syn replied contritely, and remained standing where she was while he went out of the ruined building and into the street.

* * *

Syn’s heart had broken when her Master rejected her. But then he had given her an order. There was no question in her head of whether to obey; it was as natural as breathing. So she stood and waited while he left.

She kept standing there, waiting, while distantly she could hear crews searching through the rubble a block over, trying to find survivors. She wondered if any of them had found her Master. Then she heard high-pitched grumbles and a scrabbling sound from behind her.

She turned to see Grankitty reach the top of a pile of rubble, then slip and roll down it toward her. The little stuffed animal clambered to her feet and glared up at Syn.

“Where’re your clothes, young lady?” she asked. “What have you been doing?”

Syn smiled beatifically. “I met the most wonderful man, Grankitty. He was hurt and I healed him, and then I realized that I’m his slave.”

Grankitty groaned. “Are you serious? You’ve been a magical girl five minutes, and you’re already Bonded?”

Syn giggled. “’Bonded.’ I like how that sounds!”

“It’s not good!” Grankitty snapped. “Get dressed.”

Syn looked down. Her discarded top lay by her feet, and her skirt was bunched up around her waist. She sighed; she’d never realized before how much effort it took to make decisions, how much easier it was when she had no choice but to obey. But Grankitty wasn’t Master; Syn had to decide whether or not to do what she wanted. Still, she might as well do it.

Grankitty paced up and down while Syn straightened her skirt and retied her blouse. When Syn finished, Grankitty made her tell everything that had happened since she ran off.

Afterwards, Grankitty sighed. “I did try to warn you, you stupid girl,” she chided. “Part of the curse is that you become the slave of the first person whose cum you touch–man or woman.”

“Mmmmm…” Syn sighed happily as she remembered the feel of her Master’s cum filling her. “That’s not a curse, it’s wonderful!”

“You only feel that way because it’s making you feel that way,” Grankitty told her. “Once you’re back to normal, you’ll realize how wrong and dangerous it is.”

“Back to normal?” Syn asked, face falling. “It’s not permanent?”

“Oh, it’s permanent–but it only affects Syn, not Cynthia. Once Syn stops existing, the Bond vanishes; even if you turn back into Syn, it’s still gone.”

Syn’s face lit up again. “But I only become Cynthia if I go a whole day without cumming, right? So all I have to do is keep cumming and I can be Master’s forever!”

“Syn, no!” Grankitty snapped. “You can’t stay a slave! Who knows what he could make you do–hurt people, hurt yourself…”

“If that’s what Master wants,” Syn said dreamily. “But he never would, I know he’d never order me to do anything that wasn’t right.”

“No you don’t!” Grankitty insisted. “You feel that, but you have to use your head, Syn!”

Use my head, Syn thought, and a wicked idea struck her. “Grankitty, how long is a while?”

“What?” Grankitty sounded confused, the seemingly random question derailing her tirade.

“How long is a while?” Syn repeated.

“I don’t know, however long you want it to be?” Grankitty answered, still confused.

Syn grinned. “Awesome, then I want it to be this long.” Then she turned and bounded off.

“Dammit, get back here, girl!” Grankitty shouted, but she was gone.

* * *

Jennifer unlocked the door to her parents house and bounded in. “Daddy, Amanda, I’m home!” she called.

The last wizard walked in behind her, looking around. It was a nice townhouse, three stories, in a good neighborhood. Well-maintained, expensively but tastefully furnished; despite the unassuming exterior, this was clearly a place where money lived.

It would do nicely.

“Hello, honey!” a man said, stepping around the corner into the foyer. “How are–” he broke off as his gaze fell on the wizard.

“Who are you?” he demanded. He looked like the kind of man who demanded a lot, and usually got it: broad, tall, fit, and square-jawed, graying at the temples, his suit tailored and his tie conservative.

“This is my new boyfriend, Daddy,” said Jennifer happily.

“Boyfriend?” said her father. “No, that’s ridiculous, you have to be nearly twice her age! What kind of a creep are you, she’s only twenty–!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said the wizard. “I’m her master, not her boyfriend. She’s my property to do with as I please.”

Jennifer’s father was momentarily speechless. His face turned white, then purple, and when he opened his mouth, it was clearly with the intent of unleashing fury.

“You are, too, of course,” said the wizard, reaching into his mind to make it so. “That’s why you’re completely happy with my ownership and use of your daughter.”

His mouth snapped shut, and his expression turned conciliatory. “Of course,” he agreed. “Please, come in, sir. My house is your house.”

The wizard smiled. This was a man used to hierarchies of power. A petty little man who happened to sit atop a pyramid and therefore thought himself a king–and like all such men, he stepped on those below him, used and competed with those at his level, and licked the boots of those above him. Authoritarians were the easiest people in the world to control–you didn’t have to change anything about their behavior or beliefs, just who they saw as an authority.

He explored the man’s mind while following him into the living room. A businessman, owner of a construction and contracting company, with many ties in the city’s business community and government. Yes, he would do very well.

As the wizard settled into a quite comfortable easy chair, a woman entered the room. She was tall, blonde, and tanned, maybe ten years older than Jennifer at most. The wizard’s gaze swept over her fine jewelry–including a wedding ring and engagement band with a very large diamond–tight clothes, and heavy (but expertly applied) makeup, and immediately understood her role without even needing to look in her mind.

“Who’s this?” Amanda asked her husband.

“Our new master,” he explained.

The wizard reached into the trophy wife’s mind and made his adjustments. “Oh, okay,” she said.

Jennifer’s father turned to leave the room as a task materialized in his mind, but then stopped. “I’ll need to give a name to my contacts, sir,” he said to the wizard.

“Hmm,” the wizard mused. He leaned back on the sofa as Jennifer and Amanda knelt before him, shedding their clothes. “It’s been some time since I’ve bothered with one. Let’s go with… Bruxo. Yes, that’ll do, Bruxo Feiticeiro.”

“Broosh..?” Jennifer’s father asked, and the wizard sighed.

“Bruce, then,” he said. “Is that better?”

The other man nodded. “I’ll take care of it right away, sir.”

While he walked off into his study to make some phone calls, Amanda and Jennifer pulled down the newly minted Bruce’s pants. They eagerly leaned forward to kiss and lick his member, stepmother and stepdaughter’s lips and tongues tangling as they worked together to please their master, purring delightedly all the while. Bruce placed a hand on each of their heads, letting them feel his control while they pleasured him.

Engrossed as they were, none of the three heard the door opening, or saw the young woman enter the house. She was slender and long-limbed like Jennifer, but shorter; her hair a bit wavier and darker, much longer and pulled into a ponytail that fell halfway down her back; her breasts, bottom, and hips a bit larger; and there was a dusting of freckles across her cheeks and nose, and little clusters of them on her shoulders and upper arms, clearly visible thanks to the blue tank-top she had on.

As Allison walked in, she wondered if Jennifer was home yet. She envied her older sister, getting to go to a college hours away instead of having to live with the woman she had to call “mother,” but thought of as “that gold-digging bitch dad married.” But this was the last summer she’d have to spend here. High school was over as of yesterday, and she was eighteen as of the previous month; she would be free as a bird any day now.

She walked into the living room and stopped dead. Some strange man was sitting on the couch, leaning back with his arms spread out and his eyes closed, and both Jennifer and that gold-digging bitch dad married were slurping on his cock like it was the most delicious thing they’d ever tasted–and practically making out with each other while they did it.

“What the fuck!?” Allison shouted.

Bruce opened his eyes, looked her up and down, and smiled. “Hello,” he said. “Oh, I was pleased enough to find Jennifer, but I had no idea how great a find she was. This house will do very nicely indeed.”

“Who the hell are you!?” Allison shrieked. “Where’s daddy!? What are you doing to my sister!?”

“I think it’s fairly obvious what she’s doing to me, my dear,” said the wizard. “Let me see the rest of you.”

Glowering at him, Allison pulled her tank-top off and tossed it aside. Then she unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned her jeans, dropped and stepped out of them. She reached behind her to unsnap her cream-colored bra, and only then realized what she was doing. “Wait,” she said. “Why am I..?”

“Because I told you to,” Bruce replied.

“Oh,” said Allison, dropping her bra, revealing her firm, perky young breasts. It was cool in the well-air-conditioned house, and her little pink nipples budded up immediately. She pulled down her purple-striped panties and stood in front of Bruce in nothing but her sneakers and socks.

“Lovely,” he said. “Ladies, if you would?”

Amanda and Jennifer sat back on their haunches while Allison walked forward. She looked confused and a little flushed, her brown eyes fixed on Bruce’s hard, spit-shiny cock.

She bit her lip as she reached the couch. “Why am I..?” she asked. “I shouldn’t, shouldn’t be so horny, but…”

“But you are,” said Bruce, pulling her down into his lap.

She closed her eyes and moaned as he entered her. It was hardly her first time, but it had never felt like this, like being… claimed. “Master!” she gasped, clinging to him and riding his hips. “Yes, please… take me, Master! I’m yours!”

She came at least twice before Bruce finally came in her. Then she laid back on the couch while Amanda licked his cum from her pussy, while Bruce pounded Amanda from behind, Jennifer watching and playing with herself all the while. Then it was Jennifer’s turn to ride his cock, sitting in his lap and making out with Allison while Amanda knelt below them, kissing his balls.

Eventually, all three women lay in a tangled, exhausted, euphoric heap on the couch, cum in their mouths, their pussies, their hair. Bruce stood over them, and tucked his cock neatly back into his pants, then straightened his clothes.

“Have you completed your task?” Bruce didn’t turn around, but he knew Jennifer’s father was there. The man probably had a name, but Bruce didn’t care.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I had to pull some strings, but your appointment with the mayor is tomorrow afternoon.”

“Excellent,” Bruce replied. “Now, I’ll need you to procure some other items for me…”

* * *

Syn laughed joyously as she bounded from rooftop to rooftop across the city. Her body felt incredible, so strong, so fast, so full of boundless energy. She could easily jump several stories straight up, or from one rooftop to another on the far side of a four-lane street, run faster than she’d ever run before, and all without feeling the least bit tired.

She was horny, though, but that would be solved soon enough. She could feel her master, like an invisible thread pulling on her clit, a gentle, teasing touch that drew her toward him across the city. She landed on the roof of a high-rise apartment building, and knew he was nearby. She easily leaped down terraces of balconies, and as she landed on one on the sixth floor, she knew this was the place.

Through the open curtains on the glass sliding door that led to the balcony, Syn could see into a small studio apartment. Her master sat on a couch with someone else, a pretty black woman a few years older than Syn. They were holding each other and talking quietly; they didn’t seem to have noticed Syn.

The sliding door wasn’t locked. Syn slid it open and walked in.

Both her master and the strange woman jumped to their feet and turned to face her. “Lawrence, who the fuck is this?” the woman asked.

Syn’s master groaned. “Morgan, this is, um–well, I don’t remember her name, but this girl, um, helped me. In the accident.”

“The accident?” Morgan said skeptically. “What’s she doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Lawrence answered. “I thought I told you to leave me alone?”

Syn smiled. “You ordered me to stay there a while, Master, and I did! Then after a while, I came here to see you.”

“Master?” Morgan arced an eyebrow. “Lawrence, do you care to explain why some blonde white girl in a slutty schoolgirl costume is calling you ‘master’?”

Lawrence sputtered. “Okay, I know it sounds bad, but listen, I would never–”

“The hell you wouldn’t!” Morgan snapped. “All this time acting like you were different, but you’re just like every other man, thinking with his dick! Tell me the truth–you fucked her?”

Lawrence blushed. “Well–” he started.

“Oh, fuck you,” said Morgan. She pulled a ring off her finger and threw it at him. “I don’t want to hear any excuses or lies, it’s written all over your face, you son of a bitch.” She grabbed a maroon leather jacket off the back of the couch and stormed to the door.

“Morgan–” Lawrence started.

“Shut up!” she snapped. “If I hear one more word out of you, see either of you ever again, I will fucking murder you both, you got that? This is it, Lawrence. Good-fucking-bye. He’s all yours, bitch.” She slammed the door behind her.

“Um,” said Syn, cringing back as Lawrence rounded on her. “Sorry, Master?”

“What have you done!?” Lawrence shouted at her. “Do you have any idea, any idea, how hard it was to prove to Morgan she could trust me? To get her agree to any kind of commitment? Do you realize what you’ve destroyed!?”

Syn’s big blue eyes filled with tears as she fell to her knees. “I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t realize, didn’t think–”

“No, you didn’t think, you stupid, crazy–you’ve ruined my life, do you realize that!”

Syn prostrated herself on the floor, sobbing. “I’m so, so sorry, Master!” she cried. “This is all so new to me, and I just thought–I just had to be near you, and…”

Lawrence looked down at her and sighed. “Goddammit.” She’s just a kid, he thought. A confused, sick kid. I’ve dealt with enough of those. “Okay,” he said, swallowing back his anger. “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you or anything.”

Syn continued sobbing. “Of course you won’t, Master! But I’ve hurt you! That’s unforgivable!”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he said. “Listen, uh… what’s your name again?”

“Syn,” said Syn.

“Okay, um, Syn. Do you have anywhere you can go to? A home, or..?”

Syn hiccuped, smiled up at him. Combined with her tear-stained face, the effect was heartbreakingly adorable. “Not really, Master. I have a home, but I can’t go there now.” Not like this, she thought. They wouldn’t recognize me. And anyway, I want to stay with you, Master…

Of course she’s a runaway, Lawrence thought with a sigh. “Okay,” he said. “Why don’t you, uh…” He looked around his tiny apartment. “You can stay on the couch for now, I guess, and we’ll figure out what to do in the morning, okay?”

Syn smiled happily, glad to be receiving an order. “Yes, Master!”

She sat immediately on the couch, smiling that dazzling smile of hers, and Lawrence had to look away. He tried looking down, but that meant cleavage, and further down than that smooth, bare, toned tummy, and further down than that, two tantalizing strips of thigh between too-short skirt and thigh-high-sock-clad, perfect legs…

Lawrence settled for coughing and looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah. Um… okay, you just stay there, I need to think.”

He walked around a row of bookshelves that acted as a makeshift dividing wall–and meant he couldn’t see the worryingly sexy, dangerously, temptingly submissive girl on his couch.

Syn was thinking, too. She’d screwed up, badly, and her master was clearly upset–but with his fiancee out of the picture, there also wasn’t any reason for him not to use her. The question was how to get him to realize that without upsetting him again–but once she did, she was sure he’d keep her and use her forever.

Syn squirmed happily in her seat, imagining things her master might make her do. She’d thought the powers were great, but this? This was going to be the best part.

Syn soon found the source of the faint cries for help she’d heard from the
shop: they were coming from under a pile of rubble about three blocks away. She
grabbed a chunk of concrete and twisted metal as big as she was and lifted it.
To her surprise, it came up easily, and she tossed it aside. Other pieces of
rubble followed just as easily.

How strong am I now? she wondered, but there was no time
to consider because there he was, a barely conscious man. She pulled him from
the rubble, but it looked bad. His clothes were soaked with blood, and he had
stopped calling for help; now he just lay in her arms, shivering.

What do I do? she thought. Part of her was very aware she was
holding a man across her lap. The weight felt good, the warmth… She shook her
head, trying to clear it and think. Grankitty had said something, hadn’t she?
Syn had been so distracted by the feel of her new body, of her fingers on
skin… and she was getting distracted again. She needed to think!
Grankitty had said, had said–healing, that was it! Part of the blessing was
healing!

But does that mean I’m good at healing from my own injuries, or
I can heal other people? It had to be other people, because if it wasn’t,
this man was going to die, right here in her hands. But how? How could she heal
them?

Something else Grankitty said, that the curse twisted the blessing. It
turned beauty into sex, energy to lust, right? So if it twisted my healing
powers the same way…

She knew what she had to do. Or what she thought she had to do, and it was
what part of her really, really wanted to do. She lay the man gently
on the ground, and then slowly, trembling as uncertainty fought wanting to help
fought the yawning chasm of need inside her, she unzipped his pants
and pulled out his cock.

It was only the second penis she’d ever seen in real life, but the sight of
it made her mouth water. All thought ceased, and something like an autopilot
took over. Before she knew it, his cock was in her mouth–and just like pussy,
that wasn’t a Cynthia word, but it was definitely a Syn one.

It shouldn’t have worked. He was half-unconscious from blood loss; there
wasn’t enough left to get him hard, even for the lips of a teenage girl built
like a wet dream. But this girl was imbued with powerful magic both light and
dark, and her mouth had both the healing touch of an angel and the infernal
skill of a succubus.

He hardened rapidly in Syn’s mouth, and she moaned in growing excitement.
She wasn’t even thinking about healing him anymore; she just needed to be
filled. She pulled her mouth off his cock with an audible pop, then scrambled
forward to straddle him. As her soaking pussy slid slowly down around his cock,
her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened.

It felt incredible. It was indescribable, like nothing else she’d
ever felt, a feeling of fullness that made the emptiness inside her turn to
molten chocolate and flow out through her whole body. There was no need to
think, no hesitation, no uncertainty: she let the pleasure sweep her away and
began to ride him.

Head thrown back in ecstasy, hair flying, her skirt pushed up around her
waist, Syn hastily untied her blouse and let it fall open. Her tits sprang
free, bouncing as she did, and that felt incredibly too. She grabbed them,
squeezed them, stroked her hard nipples while she slid up and down on the man’s
cock, and all too quickly she felt herself tightening, winding up like a
spring.

The man was stirring below her, groaning. Still not really conscious, but
beginning to thrust up to meet Syn’s own movements. It was working! But that
hardly mattered compared to how she felt, rising higher and higher, a wave
building toward–I’m not supposed to do this, she remembered. Grankitty
said not to, not to, not to…

She shrieked in ecstasy as she came, a mix of cries of “yes!” and
wordless noises of blissful release. Her hair danced as her head thrashed back
and forth in her spasms, her quim quivering around his cock, pure pleasure
exploding out through every part of her.

Just as she was coming down, the man spasmed as well, and suddenly her pussy
was filled with something else as well, thick and hot and creamy. Another wave
spread outward through her, a wave of pure love and peace. Her eyes closed as
she sagged bonelessly above him, a puppet with her strings cut.

When they opened again, she saw him in a new light. Her confusion was gone.
Everything made sense now. Slowly she lifted herself off his cock and then
knelt next to him, aware now of the most important new truth of a day full of
new truths:

She belonged to him. Completely, utterly, and forever.

---

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Teleportation was very hard, and took a lot of power, if your destination
was to a real place. But some teleports were easier than others: if you went
somewhere nearby, or that wasn’t your real destination, or that had strong
associations with transition and movement, or that very few living things would
ever treat as a home or destination. The practical upshot was, teleporting to
the nearest airport wasn’t that hard at all. Teleporting to the nearest bus
station was even easier, but never worth it.

The last wizard in the world materialized in an unoccupied men’s room stall
and walked out into the terminal. He was already past security, of course, but
he didn’t have a ticket or ID. Not that it mattered; those sorts of rules were
for other people.

He found the flight he wanted and scanned the travelers waiting to board. He
soon found what he was looking for: a young woman, tall and slim, with long,
wavy brown hair and a pretty face. She was wearing a college sweatshirt and
jeans–a private college, and designer jeans, and the bracelet on her wrist and
the chain around her neck were real gold.

Softly, he touched her mind. Yes, as he expected: a college student from a
wealthy family, headed home for the summer. First-class, of course. Ticket
number… ah, yes, 4B.

Now came the slightly harder part: he slowly expanded his mind, reaching out
to cover the entire waiting area for this flight, but carefully walling off the
flight attendants and everyone waiting for for other flights. He sent a thought
out seeking, and it soon came bouncing back: 4A. A middle-aged man in
a suit held the ticket for the seat next to the wizard’s target.

The wizard narrowed his focus down to that man, and pushed a few thoughts
into his head. A moment later, the man blanched, then jumped hastily to his
feet, grabbed his carry-on, and rushed to the bathroom the wizard had just
vacated.

The wizard smiled as he walked up to the girl with the ticket for 4B. Not
his most subtle work, but it would do.

Jennifer had no idea who the man was who sat next to her. He was small,
compactly built, generally nondescript. Possibly Asian, but she couldn’t quite
place what made her think that.

He wasn’t her type at all, and besides which, she had a boyfriend at school.
But the man was charming, and actually quite handsome, and as it turned out he
coincidentally had the seat right next to hers. (Though if she or any of the
flight attendants had thought about it really hard, they’d realize they had no
memory of ever actually seeing his ticket–but why would they think about that
when they knew he had seat 4A?)

By the time the captain warned them to prepare for take off, Jennifer
realized she wanted this mysterious stranger more than she’d ever wanted
anyone. By the time the plane leveled out and the seatbelt sign turned off, she
was surreptitiously stroking his cock. A minute later, it was in her mouth.

By the time they landed, there were three new truths in Jessica’s life:
First, she was now part of the Mile-High Club. Second, she was going to bring
this man home with her to meet her family and stay with them.

Finally, and most importantly, she belonged to him. Completely, utterly, and
forever.

To be continued…

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Syn froze and stared at the cat. “I… What?” She started at the
sound of her own voice. It was her voice, but changed–slightly
deepier, throatier, a perfect contralto purr. But compared to the talking
stuffed animal, that was pretty minor.

“It’s me, child. Your old Miss Kitty,” it said. 

“Okay, but, you died. I saw it! That… That thing came in,
and–and you–” Syn flushed. She should be terrified to think of the
literal monster which had killed Grankitty… But she couldn’t focus on that. Every
time she did, she remembered what it had done to the redheaded beauty Grankitty
had become. It had horrified her at the time, but imagining it now… Part of
her wanted it. A big part.

It must have shown on her face, because the tiny stuffed animal claiming to
be Grankitty said, “Starting to understand, are you?”

“What’s happened to me? How are you here? Why do I feel so…
So…”

“You can say it,” said Grankitty. “I think it’s best you
do.”

“…so horny?” Syn managed. And she was, more than she’d
ever been in her life–which, as a teenage girl growing up literally in a
nunnery, was a lot.

“Yes,” said Grankitty. “That’d be the curse. I’m sorry child,
I never imagined it’d be you.”

“What curse? Why–how do I–” How do I get uncursed, she
had been about to say. But, was that really what she wanted? Or just to get
off… She trailed slow fingers down her bare midriff, and shivered. It felt so
good, she could only imagine what it’d feel like to–

“Syn!” Grankitty snapped. “Pay attention, this is
important!”

Syn jerked back as if struck. Grankitty had never spoken to her like that
before!

Seeing her expression, Grankitty sighed. “I’m sorry, child, but there’s
no time to waste, and I need to explain what happened to you. The curse…
Well, it’s not just a curse, it’s a blessing, too. Black magic and white at the
same time, which doesn’t make sense to me, but that’s what it is. When I died,
it jumped to the nearest person that qualified…”

“Qualified?” Syn managed, trying to listen to Grankitty and not
squirm. She was tingling and empty, and so, so wet…

“Like I said, it’s a holy blessing. It only works on a virgin. And it’s
an evil curse, so it only works on someone who’s six plus six plus six years
old. And when it found you, it did… That.”

Syn looked down at herself. She was definitely farther from the ground than
she was used to, and her tummy was perfectly taught. She felt her butt through
her skirt–yes, that was definitely plusher than it used to be. And her
breasts… she felt them through what was left of her shirt, and shivered.
“Ohh… this doesn’t feel like a curse…” she moaned.

“It is one,” Grankitty insisted. “Oh yes, you’re blessed
too–with strength, beauty, power, inexhaustible energy, supernatural senses,
healing–but the curse twists all that. Angelic beauty becomes a body built for
sin, all that energy becomes lust, your senses of touch and pleasure enhanced
as much as sight or sound.”

“Mmm, pleasure doesn’t sound so bad…” said Syn, still feeling
her breasts. They were bigger, firmer, and softer all at once, somehow, and
every stroke and squeeze sent fireworks shooting up into her brain and
electricity down into her pussy, and since when did she even think
words like “pussy”?

But now that she was thinking about it… Slowly her hand drifted
toward her skirt. She touched her leg, just below the hem. Smooth, silky,
hairless skin met her finger, and she moved it a little higher, just above the
hem. She couldn’t believe she was doing this right in front of Grankitty, she couldn’t…
but maybe Grankitty wouldn’t notice–

“You stop that right now, young lady,” Grankitty snapped.

It was the voice of an annoyed old woman scolding her about sex. Some things
go deeper than magic, and Syn could almost feel the ruler rapping her
knuckles. She blushed, snatched her hands out from under her skirt, and put
them behind her back.

“There’s much worse to the curse, too. First thing is, you’re stuck
like this until sundown. If you can make it that long without an orgasm, you
can go back to normal–but if you cream before then, then you’ve got to go hold
out all the way to the next sundown.”

“Um,” said Syn. “So I’ve got superpowers and everything feels
amazing and I look hot. Why would I ever want to go back to normal?”

“Well for starters,” said Grankitty, “you think you can go
home like this? Will anyone even recognize you?”

“Oh,” said Syn. “Yeah, that’s…” She trailed off, head
cocked to one side. “Do you hear something?”

“And there’s worse, too. If you ever–”

“Hang on,” said Syn. “Really, do you hear that? It sounds
like…” Her eyes widened and she turned to look out the smashed wreckage
of the store’s front wall. Beyond was a scene of carnage she’d almost managed
to forget: the street torn up, buildings smashed and half-collapsed, dead
bodies. And somewhere out in there… “Someone’s calling for help!”
she cried. “Come on!”

She jumped through the whole the creature had left, and shouted in mixed
fear, surprise, and joy as she found herself gracefully leaping half a block
without meaning to.

“Wait!” called Grankitty after her. “You mustn’t–ah,
dangit.” Grumbling, she tottered forward on tiny stuffed-animal legs, and
laboriously began climbing up through the hole herself.

To be continued…

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