Lemma the Librarian: The Last Dance

“So,” said Iola.
“What have we learned?”

I  glared at her, rubbing the
back of my head where someone had thrown a melon at it. It really hurt!
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Maybe calling the  local sky god an
overstuffed pigeon with delusions of grandeur, in the  middle of the marketplace,
was not a great plan.”

“Don’t forget ‘at peak traffic,
on a festival day, to a priest,” Iason added oh-so-very-helpfully.

“Hey, that priest had it
coming! ‘Women shouldn’t do magic’ my ass!”

Iola pitched the bridge of her nose.
“I meant,” she said finally, “what did we learn that’s
useful for our quest?

“Oh  yeah, that. Well…
we learned the folks here aren’t big fans of women  doing magic. Or
fighting. Or traveling, or being merchants, or… much  of anything that
we could use as a cover to get close to the book,  really.” I sighed.
“And that there is just enough  residual holiness in  the temple
walls that blasting my way in will be… annoying.”

“Lemma, did you try to blow up
the temple?” Iason asked sternly. 

“No,” I replied sullenly.
“I just looked it over while I thought about blowing it up later.”

“This is getting us
nowhere,” said Iola. “You’re sure the book is in the temple?”

“Absolutely,”  I
answered. “Somewhere.” Which was part of the problem: like a lot of
 cities in this part of the world, the high priest of the local god was
 also the king, which meant that the main temple was also the king’s
 palace and city hall. Add that Lagasch was what passed for an empire in
 these parts–it ruled towns as far as 25 whole miles away!–and that
 meant a big temple, with lots of rooms, and lots of people, and lots of
 locked doors, and guards, and… You get the idea. Point was, knowing
 the book was in there wasn’t as helpful as you’d think.

“And you’re absolutely certain
the book isn’t a serious threat?”

23  Glamours That Will
Change How You Look at the World
?” I scoffed. “Nah,  I know
the series. No theory, simple recipes for simple spells, half of  which
won’t even work. We’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Are  you certain?”
Iola pressed. “Weren’t you also confident that there was  nothing to
fear from that prince in Khemia, or that pirate, or when you  came back to
Castle Brinkmoor–”

“Okay, okay!” I
 said. “Let me rephrase: we’re in no danger from anything that book
 could have taught him. It’s all stuff like glamouring food to be tastier
 or clothes to make the wearer prettier; he won’t have learned anything
 you can cast on other people to change how they feel, like Brinksmoor

Iola gave the tiniest shudder at the
 name–small enough that I wondered if I imagined it. “Then, if we
can be  confident that we won’t be enslaved or compelled to do anything
against  our wills… I know how we can get in.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m
not going to like this?” I asked. 

“While  you two were
causing riots in the marketplace, I went to see if the  temple was hiring,
and they are–they’re looking for guards.”

“That’s  me covered,”
said Iason, “but based on what that priest said, I doubt  they’ll be
much interested in hiring you or Lemma as guards.”

“No,”  said Iola.
“In fact, they’re not interested in hiring women at all.  The
only women working at the temple palace are slaves. And they’re  looking
to buy girls for–”

“Oh no,” I said, realizing
where this was headed. 

“–the King’s harem.”

“What!?” sputtered Iason.

Iola  raised her hands. “I
know. But listen, they said the King is bored of  local women and
wants,” she looked pained, “’more exotic fare.’ This is  our
best chance of getting in! We won’t have to do anything–Iason sells  us,
gets a job as a guard, and then once we’re in we find the book and  he
helps us escape.”

“Hrm,” I said. “And
failing that, once we’re inside those walls, blasting our way out is easier
than trying to blast in.”

“Lemma,” Iason said

“What? Just saying.”

“I can’t believe you’re even
considering this plan,” Iason said. “Either of you! I mean… harem

“Do you have any better
ideas?” Iola asked.

He didn’t. None of us did. So, after
a quick trip to the market to get a little slutted up (it’s amazing what the
loot from a prince’s pet project will get you), Iason put bronze collars on our
necks, chains on the collars, and led us to the temple palace. (The collars
weren’t locked, of course–they just looked like they were.)

There, we soon found ourselves
standing in front of a skinny, bored-looking old man at a high podium.
“Name?” he asked.

“I’m Lemma,” I started,
“and this is–”

“Name?” he asked again,
pointedly staring at Iason.

“Iason,” said Iason.

“Business?” asked the old

“I’m here to sell these two
lovely women as harem slaves to–”

“Names and origin of the

“Lemma of Lemuria, and Iola of
the Sea People.”

The old man leaned forward and
peered down at me. “Are you sure she’s Lemurian and not Hattushian? I’ve
never heard of a Lemurian with that color hair.”

“I’m sure,” said Iason.
“The hair’s a recent development.”

“Hrm,” said the old man.
“Well, they’re definitely unlike anything we have now. I’ll give you five
measures of silver.”

Five!? I seethed. I’m worth at least twenty!

“Five each seems a bit
low,” said Iason, “especially when–”

“I meant five for the
pair,” said the old man.

I ground my teeth, trying very hard
to not set him on fire. He looked dried out enough that he’d probably burn the
whole place down, and I didn’t want that to happen until after I had the

“Oh, I don’t think

“Take it or leave it,”
said the old man.

Iason sighed. “Take it, I

“Good man,” said the old
man. He rang a bell. “Simta,” he said to the woman who entered.
“Take these new slaves to the harem.”

Simta looked like a pretty typical
Lagaschian: tall, brown, curly dark hair, hook nose. But she was a really
pretty typical Lagaschian–her curly hair was lustrous and full, she
had big dark doe eyes and a warm, sensuous mouth, and her slender body was
draped in sheer red cloth that simultaneously hinted at everything and revealed
nothing, shifting as she moved to reveal glimpses of clear, soft brown skin,
but never more than a glimpse, everything else a slightly blurry shadow under
the thin red cloth.

The gold collar and fine gold chain
hanging from it made it pretty clear what she was, too, in case the skimpy
outfit hadn’t given it away: a harem girl, just like we were supposed to be.

She smiled at us like the moment
after a spring shower, and took our chains. “Hi!” she said brightly.
“I’m Simta, and I’m going to show you how to be the best, happiest,
sexiest harem girls you can be!”

“Um, great?” I said as she
led us into the maze of twisting corridors that made up the interior of the

“Now remember,” said
 Simta, “no men are allowed in the harem quarters except King Lugal
and his guests. If you see any strange men in here, tell me right away,

“Sure,” I said. Made
sense: the king didn’t want to share his toys.

“What about us?” asked
Iola. “Where are we allowed to go?”

“Oh, everything we need is in
the harem quarters. Except for little errands like this, or if Lugal asks us to
attend him, there’s really no need to leave. I mean, I guess there’s nothing to
stop you if you really wanted to, but why would you ever want to? This is the
best life there is!”

Simta led us into a large room
practically made of cushions. Actually, my first reaction on entering was to
think it was made of smoke, but that was just the air. Once I finished coughing
and wiped the tears out of my eyes, what I could see were pillows, everywhere,
heaps and heaps of them, all shapes and sizes and colors, or at least all
eye-searingly bright colors. Here and there girls lounged on the cushions. All
were dressed like Simta and most looked more or less like her, but there was
one woman who was a bit shorter and curvier with reddish-brown hair, clearly
Hattushan, and another with dark skin, incredibly tall and slender with the
longest, smoothest legs I’ve ever seen, and a puff of dark, tightly curly hair
that formed a big ball around her head. 

“Zehra and Endelea,”
whispered Simta. “Endelea is Pwenean. I don’t know where that is, but it’s

She wasn’t kidding. Pwene was all
the way
up the Great River of Khemeth, farther than the whole distance I’d
traveled in my entire trip–and that had taken me almost two years so
far! Even imagining it was making my head spin.

Actually, no… my head was just
spinning. I concentrated, or tried to, feeling for magic… but no, nothing.
But then I looked at the middle of the room, and the source of the smoke: a
tall brazier, and piled on it, smoldering… poppies, soma, and hashish.

No wonder all these women were
lounging, and Simta wasn’t entirely there–they were drugged to the

“Okay,” said Simta,
“since you’re new you get to wear these!” She pulled out two… well,
outfits is a strong word. Two assemblages of cloth, one green, one blue.

And dripping with magic.

I glanced at Iola and, when she
looked back, tilted my head at the outfits. She nodded. Time to stage our
breakout and go book-hunting.

I looked around the room for the
entrance we’d come in by. The round room, full of almost nothing but pillows,
with at least eight identical-looking arches that led out. Okay, wait,
Ende… Inda… Endel… Pwene girl was on my… left when I came in? Or was
that right? What’s her name, Endelpe… Pwene Enda… Pwendelea!
I laughed
at my own joke, then looked around to see if anyone else thought it was funny.

Iola yawned. “We need
to…” She yawned again. “Get out..?”

Simta looked scandalized. “Why
would you leave?” she asked. “Come on, you have to try on your new
clothes, they’re one of the best parts!”

I shook my head, backing away.
“No, no, we, um, we have to, uh…” I couldn’t think. How did these
girls stand this all day every day? Literally. How is Simta standing? I’m
about to fall over… I guess you get used to it? Or just lie around all day
like the other girls…

Lying down was sounding pretty good.
Except it also sounded really bad because… something.

“Lemme just rest a
moment,” I said, and tried to sit on a pillow. I missed, which was kind of
amazing because everything in this room was pillow, and then I just sort
of sprawled. Iola flopped down next to me a minute later.

“Stop the room,” I mumbled
as it spun around me. “I wanna get off.”

“Shh,” said Simta.
“Let’s just get you two changed.”

I wasn’t in much state to put up a
struggle, though I tried. Iola tried too, with slightly more success, at least
I think that’s how Simta got that bruise on her arm–my memory’s a little fuzzy
about this point. But pretty soon we were in our outfits–which, like I said,
is a strong word for them.

Simta put me in the green and Iola
in the blue, but otherwise they were basically the same: a gold collar, with a
fine gold chain that was pretty clearly just for show, and a similar gold chain
around the waist. A sheer piece of cloth that connect to the front of the chain
and hung down to about mid-calf, and another in the back that went down to my
ankles. Another, longer cloth, looped around my back and over my breasts, then
tied behind my neck. A veil that covered my face below my eyes, and another
cloth wrapped around my hair in a cone, so it gathered above my head and then
cascaded down my back from the tip of the cone. Gold bracelets on ankles and

And that was it. It was like
they’d found a way to be nakeder than naked. The cloth was too thin to
actually hide anything, even thinner than what Simta was wearing, and all it
did was call attention to what it supposedly covered–which wasn’t much to
begin with!

But more important than that was the
spell imbuing it. Which, fuzzy-brained as I was, I still tried to get a look

I couldn’t. It was like the cloth–I
could see it was there, but it was so fine, it was practically transparent. I
couldn’t get a grip on the weave. It was like a glamour, but so tightly
woven, so complex… “This didn’t come from Twenty-Three Glamours That
whatever,” I mumbled.

“What?” asked Simta,
looking puzzled. But her smile returned quickly. “No matter. All dressed
now! Ready to meet your new owner?”

She took our ridiculous little
chains in hand and gently tugged. Vaguely, it occurred to me that if I got out
of the room, my head might get clearer, so I attempted to stand.

It was not a successful attempt.

Oh well, it’s not like dignity was
possible while in those outfits anyway. Iola and I had no choice but to crawl
behind Simta, slowly and unsteadily, as she led us out one of the arches and
down a hallway.

There was air here, but my head was
still swimming when we reached what I can only assume were the king’s quarters,
or maybe just his quarters in the harem part of the building. Anyway, it had a
lot of cushions too, but they only took up half the room. The other half had
ornately carved wooden furniture–a desk, a couple chairs, a table.

Sprawled on the pillows was an
astoundingly gorgeous man, a vision of absolute perfection–

I closed my eyes and reminded myself
there was a glamour trying to work on me. I felt for the threads, and pushed
them back, visualizing them slowly peeling back from my skull like a wet cap.
Confident that I would be seeing with my own eyes, I opened them again.

Sprawled on the pillows was an
astoundingly gorgeous man, a vision of absolute perfection.

He was maybe a very healthy forty,
tall, muscular, lean, with a strong jaw and magnificent, curly black hair that
spilled down to his shoulders. He was mostly clean-shaven, except the area
immediately around his mouth and his chin; there he’d grown his beard long,
combed and oiled it into a cone that hung a good four inches down from his
chin, also black but with little touches of gray here and there. A sort of net
was wrapped around the cone, and little jewels glistened everywhere two strands
crossed. Other than that, he was naked. I could see every plane of his chiseled
brown body–and I could feel his dark eyes looking over mine as well.

“You’re turning pinker by the
moment, I see,” he said to me. “It’s quite charming.” He nodded
to Simta. “Leave us,” he said.

I’d barely been paying attention to
her; as soon as we entered, she got down on her knees as well, folding her
whole body forward so that her head almost touched the ground. At the king’s
word, she stood quickly, said, “Thank you, Your Majesty,” and hastily

“You may stand,” the king
said, sitting up.

We may, I thought. But can we? Next to me, Iola put a hand
on the wall to steady herself as she slowly rose. Well, I wasn’t going to be
the only one lying down, so I sprang to my feet as well.

Okay, so less sprang and more
grabbed onto Iola’s arm and slowly hauled myself basically upright, though I
wobbled a bit too much to really call it “standing.” Wavering?

Anyway, the king smiled. “I am
Lugal,” he said. “I believe you are called Lemma and Iola?”

“Muh-huh,” I mumbled.
Standing up had made my head feel like it was swelling to three times its
normal size.

“Wonderful!” he replied.
“Ah, I can see the smoke is affecting you still. My apologies, but it was
necessary to ensure you didn’t tear out of the harem and start hunting for this
immediately.” He held up something square and brownish.

I tried to focus on it, but my
vision was still all swimmy. Slowly, though, I realized what it had to be.
“The book!”

“You knew who we were,”
said Iola.

His smile broadened. “Oh yes.
I’ve known for weeks that you would be here sooner or later.” He put the
book down on the cushion next to him.

Seeing my chance, I leaped forward,
grabbed it, and ran out of the room. Well, I tried to. I let go of Iola’s arm,
nearly fell over, and grabbed it again. “Woog,” I said.

Iola, on the other hand, was getting
steadier by the moment. She’s bigger than me; the drugged smoke probably hadn’t
affected her quite as much to begin with. “What’s to stop us from killing
you now?” she asked.

“Well,” Lugal replied,
“hopefully the enchantments in your garments, to start with.”

Iola laughed. “You think
so?” she said calmly. “I’ve been wrapped in glamours before, I know
what it feels like–and how to push against it. And if you think I have any
more qualms about ripping these clothes off than ripping your head off, you are
quite mistaken.” She reached for the cloth over her breasts.

“I wouldn’t, if I were
you.” Lugal’s voice was smooth, confident–but underneath was just a hint
of urgency. “The results would not be pleasant for any of us.”

I was starting to feel a little
better, a little clearer. I breathed in slow and deep, and that seemed to help.
If I could just get my head straight enough to lob a fireball, this would be
over. “Waddaya mean?” I asked, slurring just a bit more than I’d have

“Well, we don’t want him to
come back, do we?” Lugal asked.

I paused. Had I missed part of the
conversation? Was I more out of it than I thought?

“Lemma,” Iola said,
“don’t listen to him. He put glamours on these clothes, I can feel it, and
I’m sure you can too. We can’t believe anything he says, it’s all a trap.”

“Well, yes, this is a
trap,” said Lugal. “Obviously. But no, I’m afraid I’m not the one who
enchanted those two outfits. That’s rather the point.”

We stared at him. Slowly I worked over
what he was saying in my still slightly addled brain, until I found a clear and
cogent statement I could make that fully expressed my response.

“Wha?” I asked.

“Well, it’s why I said none of
us would like the result of you trying to remove or damage those clothes. It’s
part of the bargain, you see.”

“Bargain?” Iola asked


Lugal’s story started years ago,
when he was a young king and the book first came into his possession.
Fascinated, he soon learned all the glamours in it by heart. They were useful,
but hardly life-changing–he could be more impressive when he wanted to be, or
ensure that a foreign dignitary enjoyed a feast, but nothing major. It never
even occurred to him to wonder if anything more major were possible… until he
saw Simta.

It was only a few months ago, during
a festival celebrating the union of the god Ningirthu, the city’s patron, and
the goddess Ntinugha, his bride. As king and high priest of Ningirthu, Lugal
led the procession of worshipers from the palace temple to the temple of
Ntinugha. There he ritually wed (read: fucked) the high priestess of Ntinugha,
an old woman named Shirat.

After that came the Barley Dance,
and that was when he saw her, one of many acolytes who danced to celebrate the
divine union. Newly come of age, beautiful, graceful, sexy–Simta.

Afterwards he asked around and
learned her name, that she was Shirat’s granddaughter, that she was stubborn,
willful, and clever. Everything he learned made him want her more, so he
pursued her, offered to make her his third queen.

She refused. No matter what gifts he
promised, no matter if he begged or threatened or charmed, she refused.
“Queen?” she scoffed. “You mean slave–or would you relax the
laws that state a married woman must serve her husband, must be veiled and
escorted to leave his home?”

“Those laws are the will of
divine Ningirthu,” Lagash replied. “I could not lift them even if I
wanted to–but why would I want to change a law that keeps you by my side? You
will be cherished, celebrated, your beauty the light by which I view my

“No,” she said simply.
“I will remain an acolyte, and learn the goddess’ arts of healing, and do
my own work as my own woman.”

Despairing of ever winning her
heart, Lugal’s heart fell into a dark despair. (Seriously, that’s what he said.
“My heart fell into a dark despair.” Like, I was trying to just write
down what I remembered him saying, but seriously? Not “my heart sank”
or “I fell into a dark despair.” No, he’s a king. No single cliche is
enough for him, he’s going to fuse those fuckers like a chimera. Behold the
royal clichemera!)

Anyway, Lugal sad because Lugal dick
no wet. He had tried everything else, so he tried magic. He used glamours to
make himself seem as attractive as possible. He paid for new ceremonial earrings
for all the priestesses of Ntinugha, and put a glamour on Simta’s to make her
life seem as uninteresting and unimportant as possible.

It didn’t work.

He was about to give up when a
strange traveler appeared, an enchanter from a distant land, and offered him a
bargain that would prove the key to Simta’s heart.

What he offered, of course, were two
magical harem outfits. Each was enchanted to draw the wearer to Lugal, to make
her love him and desire to obey him. All he had to do in return was use them–specifically,
when a small, red-haired Lemurian sorceress named Lemma came, he was to use it
to make her part of his harem, as well as any female companions she might have.


“Let me guess,” I said, by
now definitely feeling more clear-headed. “Did this traveling enchanter
have red hair and very sharp teeth? Ate a lot of meat?”

“Why yes,” said Lugal.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised, he knew that you were coming, so of
course you’ve met.”

“Red,” I said. “Of
course.” That explained the complexity and subtlety of the enchantment,
and why it seemed like a glamour but didn’t act like one–it was that same
geas/glamour hybrid magic the fey loved so much.

“We definitely need to take
this off, then,” said Iola, and once again reached for the cloth over her

“No, you really don’t!”
said Lugal hastily. “I haven’t finished the story, you don’t know all of
it yet.”

“So tell!” I snapped.

He raised his hands. “All
right, all right. So, once I had the garments, I ordered another performance of
the Barley Dance. It’s unusual, but within my rights. I ordered new costumes,
too–and I put Simta in an enchanted one. Since I had two anyway, I put the
second-prettiest dancer in one, too.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the
memory. “It worked. By the end of the dance they were quite worked up, and
happily joined me in my bed chamber. By the next day the other dancer was ready
to join my harem, and Simta uncertain about whether she wanted to return to the
temple. By the third day, Simta was happy as well–but she didn’t want to be my
queen. All she wanted was to be a harem girl–the enchantment had made her love
and crave that role.

"She pledged herself to be mine
forever, and in that moment the spell became permanent, even without the
garments. I told the enchanter how pleased I was with the results, and asked
what else he could make–with enchantments of this power I could turn political
enemies into friends, rival nations into allies, I could make Lagasch a power
to be reckoned with and be remembered as its greatest king!

"That was when I made a second
bargain. More of a bet, really, all about you.”

“Us?” asked Iola.
“What kind of bet?”

“It’s simple. If you surrender
completely to the enchantment and become my slaves, at that moment he will
return and teach me the secrets behind his magic. If, however, you remove the
garments before that time and break free, or try to leave the temple palace, he
will immediately return and slaughter everyone here.”

“…Fuck,” I said. The
only reason I could see that Red didn’t just appear in the middle of the night
somewhere on the road and slit my throat in my sleep was that he was still on
Queen Maev’s shit list. Obviously he’d talked her into commuting his death
sentence (for freeing me, natch) to community service, that was why he’d been
trying to free Sylki back in Rasnia, but that didn’t mean he was back in her
good books yet. She probably wouldn’t mind him killing me, but she probably would
mind him creating a diplomatic incident between Faerie and Lemuria, so
killing me was only an option if he could do it without breaking the
treaty–which meant as part of a bargain with a human, or if I was aiding an
enemy of the fey. That had been his excuse in Rasnia, but here?

Here he had to use the bargain. But
after two bargains with me going south for him, he’d realized bargaining with
me wasn’t the way to go–so he bargained with someone else for me.
Technically within the rules of the treaty, and there’s nothing fey love so
much as a technicality.

But that meant… that meant that
unless I could figure out a third option, my only choices were to become
Lugal’s harem girl, or risk being killed by Red–“And that’s why you’ve
told us all this,” I said out loud.

“What?” asked Iola. Lugal
just smirked at us, and dammit, even that was sexy.

“You and I both know we could
break out of this easily. But we also both know that fighting Red would be very
nasty, so knowing that he’s going to try to kill us the instant we try to take
it off…”

“Exactly,” said Lugal.
“The longer you keep those costumes on, the better for me–but the longer
you keep them on, the longer you have to try to think of a way to get out of
them without being killed. It’s in both our interests for you to keep them

What you don’t realize, I thought, is that Red has tricked you, too. He can
teach you the secrets behind his magic, that doesn’t mean you’ll be able to use
it. I know I couldn’t, and I’ve got more power, more talent, and more training
in my pinkie than you have in your whole body

It was a nice thought, but it didn’t
change one fact: we were trapped.

“Now then,” said Lugal,
“since we’re all in this together…” He clapped. “Dance for

“I don’t–” I began. But
those wet strands of magic, that net, closed suddenly around my head. I felt
them worming through my brain, tingles running up and down my limbs. My muscles
relaxed, music filled my head–insistent drums, combined with beguiling
woodwinds–and slowly, I began to sway to the rhythm. Next to me, Iola did the
same. We turned to face each other, and I knew her heavy-lidded, blank
expression matched my own.

Our arms waved up and down in
opposed unison, our hips swayed back and forth, and we began to dance. We
couldn’t resist, couldn’t want to resist; dancing was simply and
unquestionably what we were to do, and it was wonderful.

I tried to keep hold of my thoughts
as best I could, to analyze what was happening. A fey geas was a lot more
powerful than a human one; it didn’t require conscious, deliberate agreement,
just any act that implied agreement. We were wearing the uniforms of
harem girls, and we weren’t trying to take them off; that implied agreement to
be harem girls. As long as we wore them, we were bound by the geas to be harem
girls–and if we actually promised to be harem girls, that would be
enough to keep the geas going whether we wore the outfit or not.

Therefore, we were harem girls–and
then the glamours kicked in, making serving as a harem girl seem like a
wonderful thing. Making us enjoy it, making the idea of just giving in and
agreeing to be one permanently seem attractive. And since the glamours were
woven right into the geas, making the geas permanent would make them permanent

And Simta had had no idea. She’d
have no way of knowing the clothes compelled her and made her like it. She’d
have thought it was her own idea, her own enjoyment… and she’d still been
stubborn enough to last almost three days?

Iola and I bent backward, exposing
our bare midriffs and legs, only the bare concealment of the sheer cloth
between our legs making the pose less than completely lewd. Glamours slotting
into place, so hard to identify and push back out. Dancing feels good, exertion
feels good
, being sexy feels good, dancing is sexy, all these
linked strands trying to worm their way into my brain while my body was
occupied. Of course they weren’t made of words–it wasn’t the thought
“dancing feels good” I had to push away. It was more primal than
that, deeper down–not ideas but feelings, trying to worm their way in beneath
my thoughts.

But I was able to snip each one, cut
if off while it tried to find an attachment in my brain, so they couldn’t
completely root and dangled free. My outfit is sexy, I like being
, I like being wanted–that last was a hard one, because who doesn’t
like being wanted, but I was still able to push it away while Iola and I
straightened up, leaned forward, and shook our breasts at King Lugal.

Serving the king is good–pfft, yeah right! This is my place, it feels
good to serve
, none of these were going to stick on me. Obeying feels
, obeying is sexy, I like being made to obey, being
made to obey turns me on

That was bad. That was very, very
bad, because a certain dragon had left an unshakable little nugget of truth in
my brain, a fact about myself which I could not deny: Being made to obey turns
me on. That strand of glamour that said the same thing hit that little nugget
and wrapped around it instantly–inevitable, undeniable.

And once that strand was in place,
it was that much harder to push away the others that attached to it. Being
made to obey turns me on
, being made to obey is sexy, obedience
turns me on
, obedience is sexy, being made to dance is sexy, dancing
is sexy
, dancing turns me on…

I tried to fight it. I really did!
But by the time the dance ended, and Iola and I held our final poses–on our
knees, bent backwards so the backs of our heads nearly touched the floor, our
hands stretched out as far behind us as we could go–we were both exhausted,
panting, and glistening with sweat.

But I was also wet and horny as

Lugal clapped politely as our
performance finished. “Not bad,” he said. “Untrained, of course,
but the enchantment takes care of that somewhat. In time, Simta will teach you
what she knows, and then we will really see what you can do.”

He hadn’t released us; we were still
locked in our positions. All I could do was stare at the ceiling, panting, and
hope someone did something about filling up the emptiness now filling
me. Then I felt his hand stroking my bare tummy, and for a moment I forgot to
breathe. His touch is pure pleasure, the glamours told me, and as turned
on as I was, I couldn’t deny it. I love when he touches me, I crave
his touch
, I need his touch. More and more glamours layering in,
feelings and desires building on top of feelings and desires.

“Both of you, kneel,”
Lugal commanded, and my body–or rather, the geas–knew exactly what that
meant. Simultaneously, Iola and I curled upward and then forward, flowing into
a new position without moving our legs at all, until we were in the same
posture as Simta earlier: knees slightly apart, heels together, butt resting on
heels, head almost touching the floor, arms stretched out ahead of us. My abs
were going to hurt in the morning.

I glanced up at Lugal–that was,
apparently, allowed. He was hard, and his  cock was long, slender,
smooth–I could feel my mouth and pussy watering at the sight of it.

“You both want me,” he said,
stating it as a fact, and it was true. It was part of the geas, part of being a
good harem girl, not to mention something the glamours were working very hard
to get into my head. And with the glamours that made me love and crave his
touch settled into place, it was very hard to fight off the thread that, put
into words, was something like I want my owner.

He is not my owner, I told myself. But I still needed his touch, and obeying
him turned me on. I could keep the thread from getting a permanent grip, but
not push it out completely.

He looked over us both, and I knew
that if he ordered me to fuck him, I would be lost. “Iola,” he said,
seating himself on the bed. “Suck my cock.”

I couldn’t help but groan in
frustration, but I stayed where I was while Iola rose, walked over to him, and
then knelt again. Taking his cock in her hand, she opened her mouth and took
the whole shaft. I wondered if that was something she’d learned how to do on
her own, or from Lord Brinksmoor, or if the geas gave her the ability. Either
way, she wasn’t bad, but from what I could see on the floor, she wasn’t up to
my level.

If he only knew what he’s missing, I thought, and immediately regretted it. One of the
threads probing endlessly at my mind found that thought and latched onto it,
then coiled itself into place, linked firmly with my mounting desire for his
touch and to be made to obey: I want to be made to suck him. And then
quick on the heels of that: I want to be made to service him, I want
to be made to serve him
, I want to be made to fuck him.

I trembled with need and exhaustion
and the effort of trying to fight off all these glamours. The more of them made
it through into my head, the bigger a net they built around my feelings, the
more places there were for the remaining threads to attach. I’d gone from
fighting on one front to fighting on fifty, all at once. Threads about
obedience and sex bombarded me, trying to link with my desire to be made to
fuck him, my craving for his touch, my desire to be commanded, and all the threads
related to those desires. I tried my best, but something got through, linking
to both wanting his touch and wanting him to make me fuck him: I want him to
fuck me
. Then a thread linking that to wanting to be made to serve him: I
want him to use me
. And another linking to that and craving his touch: I
want him to take me

Grunts from Lugal and choking sounds
from Iola signaled the end of his blowjob. She fell back, gasping for air, cum
spilling over her chin and dripping down onto her breasts. It was my turn. He
was going to take me, use me, fuck me, and I knew there was no way I could keep
fighting while–

“Good,” he said.
“Both of you may return to the harem now.”

It was phrased as a permission, but
the geas compelled us to understand it as an order. We both stood and walked
out into the hall.

We walked down the hall in silence.
Without his presence, without the ever-present possibility of new orders, I
could focus more clearly on the net of glamours settling in around me. I could
probe it, push it back and away, loosen it.

“How are you doing?” asked

“I’m… fighting,” I
managed. “You?”

“The same. I keep feeling
these… feelings. But I know they’re not mine, so I can force them away. I
can’t help but obey his direct orders… but I’m still me. I still hate

“Yeah,” I said, still
trying to pull those glamours out. I could push the net back, but I couldn’t
get rid of it completely. The strands were all woven into each other, and that
made them strong–and they had a very solid anchor point courtesy of the
dragon. If I could just find some weak linkages, and start breaking them,
tenuous connections that weren’t quite right, that I could doubt and question
and pull apart…

But the geas held us in its grip. I
could smell the smoke of the room ahead, feel my concentration wavering.

“This will not be easy,”
said Iola.

“No,” I agreed. Then we
plunged through the archway into the smoky room.


Iola was right: it wasn’t easy. I
needed to concentrate, but I was so tired, and that smoke made me so sleepy and
lightheaded. Lying down helped a little–there was less smoke near the
floor–but then I was tired and sleepy and lying down, and it was so easy to
just drift off, just relax and sleep and deal with the glamours in the

I woke with a pounding headache.
There was no telling what time it was or how long I’d been asleep, since the
room had no windows, but the brazier was burning low, and the smoke had thinned
quite a bit. I still felt a bit woozy, but mostly I was just thirsty.

Best of all, while I was asleep the
glamours had just hung there. My dreams had been lurid and incoherent, bursts
of color and bizarre imagery–nothing the glamours could latch onto.

I hauled myself into a sitting
position, which made my head throb even harder, but it also meant I could reach
for one of the large bowls of water on pillars scattered around the room. I
gulped water until my stomach started to hurt, all the while pushing back
against the glamours.

Where to start unraveling them? I
poked at the feelings, holding them back. Looking at them this way, they were
like echoes or memories of feelings, dulled and distant. But while no new
glamours had settled in while I slept, the ones that were already there had
tightened and strengthened their connections, linking up to each other in a
more and more complex web.

But not everywhere was equally
strong. There were no dangling threads I could pull at, but there was one on
the periphery I might be able to do something with–dancing is sexy. I hate
dancing, especially in public, so that was definitely something I could
question. Something I could push at, weaken. It was connected into the other
glamours, sure, but not very strongly, and if I could just pull it out…

I was aware of Iola sitting up next
to me, but I was trying to concentrate on the glamour and pull out the weak
link. Almost… almost… there! It snapped and spun free, out of my
head back into the clothes. Dancing was most certainly not sexy!

And if it wasn’t sexy, then why
would it turn me on? Without “dancing is sexy,” that thread was
weaker now, and I could suddenly notice that Iola is about to take off her

“Stop!” I shouted, and
grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

“Getting out,” she said.
“I’m tired of having to fight these feelings off. I’m going to take my
chances with this Red person.”

Right, I thought. Iola’s never actually seen him fight.
“Listen, you have no idea how dangerous he is!”

“We beat Brea,” Iola
replied. “We can defeat him.”

“I’m not sure we can! Brea was
going easy on us, remember? He might not be as strong as her full power, but he
can definitely kill us a lot faster than a vampire that’s not trying

Iola stared at me. “You…
you’re actually admitting you have limits?”

“Ha. Ha,” I replied.
“I’ll have you know I’m very realistic about my limitations, it’s just
that most of the time I don’t have any.”

“Yes, I can see how realistic
you’re being.”

“I’m serious! Most things I can
at least hurt with my magic! But Red? I can’t scratch him, and he can
tear our limbs off with his bare hands. The only one of us who stands a chance
against him is…” I sighed. I didn’t want to say it.

“Is?” asked Iola.

“Iason,” I replied.
“One scratch from his sword could kill Red dead–but even then only if he got
a scratch. He’s so fast, I’m not sure Iason could land a hit before Red killed
us all.”

“Okay,” said Iola,
“but it’s a chance. Iason said he was trying to get a job as a guard, he’s
got to be around here somewhere! We strip, find him, and then we fight this Red

I shook my head. “You don’t get
it. A fey bargain is like a geas in itself. The instant we free
ourselves, Red is obligated to murder everyone in this temple. He would be
pulled directly to us, instantly, from anywhere in this world or Faerie.
He’d be on top of us before we could take a step.”

Iola stared at me. “This
creature really frightens you,” she said.

“Yes! He does! Which is why
we’re going to stay calm and come up with a plan before we get ourselves

“Okay,” she said.
“But we should still go looking for Iason, right?”

“What makes you think he’s even

“What?” asked Iola.

“Think about it. Red told Lugal
we were coming. He said you might be with me–do you think he didn’t mention
Iason, too? They probably kicked him out the door the minute they got us away
from him.”

Iola looked at me in silence for a
long time, then sagged back on the pillows. “So we are on our own.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Lemma…” She paused, her
dark eyes large and clear. “I don’t want to be a slave again. I won’t
be a slave again. If I feel myself going…”

“I understand,” I said.

“You too, right? If you can’t
hold out, you’ll tell me, and we’ll tear these off and make our stands.”

I nodded. “Of course.” I
mean, if it’s a choice between being a slave and dying… I mean, I know I want
to be made to obey, but… shit.
This was a bad train of thought to be
going down. It was distracting me from fighting back, and more importantly, I
wasn’t sure I would rather die than be a slave. The glamours had their
in, and I could feel one slipping in: I’d rather be a harem girl than dead.

It burrowed in below my thoughts,
coiled around my uncertainty, and then grabbed onto the net I was trying to
push away, linking up to wanting to be made to serve, wanting him to take me.
At once that net was pulling itself back around me again, those echo-emotions
surging back up to feel present and real.

Simta approached us, smiling.
“His Majesty wishes to see you again, Lemma,” she said, and like a
puppet I immediately rose. “Oh, you’re so lucky,” she said, “to
be summoned again so quickly. But I suppose I’ve had more than my share in the
last few months!” She giggled.

I couldn’t deny how happy she
seemed, and another glamour slipped in, linking to my now-conviction that it
was better to be a harem girl than die: harem girls are happy.

As I walked down the hall, I
couldn’t help feeling excited. Thanks to the glamours, I craved his touch,
wanted him to take me and use me, to fuck me, to make me fuck him. Those
desires were getting stronger with every step I took, as I got more and more

Finally, I reached Lugal’s chamber.
Immediately, instinctively, I started to kneel, but he raised his hand.
“No, Lemma,” he said. “No need for that now.”

So I stood there, trembling with
excitement and need, while he slowly walked around me, examining me.

“Do you know why I made Iola
service me last night, and not you?” he asked.

A question was as good as a command
to reply. “No… Your Majesty.” The last two words were compelled out
of me, and that was hot as fuck, and there went another glamour, linking
to finding being made to obey sexy and wanting to be made to serve: being
made to serve is sexy

He finished his circle and faced me.
“Because, Lemma, it was obvious very quickly that you are being affected
much more quickly than Iola.”

I gulped.

“I am not a fool, Lemma. I
could see that the other dancer fell quickly because she had a natural
submissive streak, while Simta very much did not. Not that it mattered in the
end–but it did help Simta hold out a full day and a half longer.” Lugal
took my chin in his hand and gently tilted my face up to look at him, and between
the thrill of his glamour-amplified touch and the sheer power it demonstrated
he had over me, I nearly creamed on the spot.

He smiled, then stepped back.
“Dance for me, Lemma.”

So I did, just as I had before. Like
I said, I hate dancing–but I hadn’t had a chance to deal with the other
glamours related to it. Even though I hated it, it still turned me on, and I
still found being made to do it sexy. I hadn’t been able to hold off the
glamour under those circumstances before, and I couldn’t do it now: once again,
dancing is sexy.

But it didn’t matter either way; I
did it because the king commanded it. I had no choice, I had to serve,
and being made to serve was sexy. Serving is sexy. Just like that, the
glamour was in my head, linking up to finding dancing sexy and finding being
made to serve sexy.

“Stop,” Lugal ordered, and
I did instantly.

Again he took my chin in his hand,
and looked down into my eyes. I was transfixed, speechless; all I could do was
beg with my eyes. Then he kissed me, and it was like a fireball exploding in my
brain and lightning down my spine. I didn’t move a muscle except my mouth, my
tongue, and he just held my face with one hand while our lips and tongues met,
but it was intense, electric.

He broke the kiss, stepped back, and
I nearly lost my balance, I was so staggered. “Please,” I whimpered.

“No,” he said, his smile
not the least bit cruel. “Not until you are completely mine. Go back to
the harem and tell Iola to come see me next.”

I didn’t want to. I wanted to grab
him push him down, straddle him, fuck him, but I couldn’t. I had to obey
him, had to serve him like a good harem girl would, and that opened the door to
more glamours: Harem girls serve. Being a harem girl is sexy. I want to be a
harem girl.

By now the air in the harem was almost
completely clear. Iola was seated crosslegged on a pillow, her eyes closed.
Trying to fight the glamours, I assumed.

Probably with a lot more success
than me
, I thought. And there was another
glamour: I can’t beat this. It’s surrender… or death.

And I already knew, surrendering
meant being a harem girl, and I would rather be a harem girl than dead. I
wanted be a harem girl anyway! Given the choice… another glamour. I want
to be his harem girl. I want to surrender to him.
And that linked up so easily
to wanting him to take me… I want him to own me.

I want to be his completely.

It was over. I think Iola must have
seen something in my face, been tipped off by some instinct, because she looked
up at me as I approached her, and immediately her hand went to her breast, to
rip off the cloth.

I couldn’t let that happen.
“His Majesty wishes to see you immediately,” I said.

She stood, but her hand was still in
the same place. I had to stop her, I couldn’t let her ruin this, not
when I was so close! I understood, now; Red had tailored the glamour part of
the enchantment specifically for me. He didn’t know Iola, didn’t know the
buttons to push.

I did.

I’ve never been great at glamours,
but after two years of dealing with every imaginable type of mental magic, not
to mention a few I’d never imagined, I picked up a thing or two. My glamour was
crude compared to Red’s, but it was something I knew would work on Iola, the
careful, strategic fighter: Wait for the right moment.

I could see it settling in her
brain, and she was so startled she actually managed to stop, geas or no
geas, and jerk around to face me. “Lemma!” she said, her expression
one of total betrayal.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and
added more glamours: Avoid risks. Go along to get along. Conserve my

She was fighting, but she couldn’t
fight the geas and my glamours and the ones in the clothes. I could see them
curling around mine, joining my crude, clumsy network, making it harder and
harder for her to muster the will to resist.

The pull of the geas was too strong,
but I followed. His Majesty had said he would take me when I surrendered, and I
had surrendered, that was like an order to come back to him.

And while I followed, I put more
glamours into Iola’s brain, feelings something like It’s too dangerous too
try to escape. There’s no way to win. Better to survive as a slave than be
killed horribly

That last one bounced right off, so
I had to think a moment. Then I saw the answer: Survival is victory.
Survival is as close as I can get to winning. The only way to survive is as a
harem girl

And that did it. The glamours were
definitely working their way in now–and more importantly, any desire to remove
her outfit or run away was firmly tied down by my own additions.

We entered the King’s chamber and
kneeled. I caught a glimpse of his face as I entered; he looked cross.

“Lemma,” he said sternly,
“Why have you returned? I did not command you to.”

“My apologies, Your
Majesty,” I said. “But you did. You said you would take me when I was
ready to surrender completely.”

“And are you?” he asked.

This was it. My last moment of
freedom before I became completely, entirely, eternally his, bound by
unbreakable fairy magic. But that was a lie; freedom was already gone, and I
was glad to be rid of it. “Yes,” I breathed. “I want to be
yours, your harem girl. I am yours. I am your devoted, obedient, sexy
harem girl, forever.”

“Then come here,” he said.
“Iola, you can watch as Lemma sheds her garments. See how happy she is to
be mine at least, and know that soon that will be you as well.”

Iola raised her head, sat back on
her haunches, and watched as I sashayed toward King Lugal, my hands already
reaching to tear off the cloth almost-but-not-quite concealing my nakedness.

“Wait,” he said. “I
like watching you dance. Do it while you strip, slowly.”

I groaned. I didn’t want to wait. I needed
him, desperately–but I was his obedient harem girl. There was no choice but to
do as he said–and it felt so good to do it, and know I had to do it.

I began to sway and twirl slowly in
place, running my hands up and down my body. Slowly I dropped my veils, the
gauzy pieces of cloth covering me, one by one letting them fall, until at last
I wore nothing but golden collar and the golden chain around me waist.

I stepped toward my owner, my master,
my King, as he lay back on the cushions, hand behind his head, his cock
sticking straight up in the air. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Iola,
biting her lip as she watched, and through the thin fabric of her outfit I
could see how hard her nipples were, how wet she was getting. The glamours were
getting her, and before long she would join me in bliss.

I was glad.

But then, before I could impale
myself on King Lugal’s lordly, half-divine cock, the door burst open. I groaned
when I saw who it was: Iason, his armor spattered with blood–other people’s,
it looked like–and his sword gleaming darkly in his hands. “Lemma, I’m
here to save you!” he shouted.

Iola half-turned toward him, as
close as she could get to disobeying the command locking her eyes on me.
“Help!” she managed. “Your sword, quickly!”

“No!” I shouted, but it
was too late. Iason touched the flat of his sword to the side of Iola’s head.
There was a sizzling noise, and she collapsed onto her sides, a puppet with its
strings cut.

“Thank you,” she said.

And then Red was there. No pop, no
glow, no portal, just one moment he wasn’t and the next he was in the middle of
the room. He grinned as he saw me, and time seemed to slow. I could see that he
was tensing, about to spring–and then he ducked as Iason’s sword whistled over
his head, missing him by a hair.

“Oh, how lovely!” he said,
straightening and spinning out of Iason’s reach. “The best of both
worlds–one last humiliation for Lemma the slave, and I get to kill her
and all her friends!”

“You’re wrong!” I
retorted. “I’m proud to be a harem girl, it is everything I want to

Red laughed. “Well, then I know
what I’ll be taking first.” He dodged away from Iason’s sword again,
grabbed Lugal, tore his head off his neck, and threw his body onto Iason’s

I screamed in agony. My lord, my
master, my reason for living, was dead!

“Ah, that’s what I like to
hear,” said Red.

Iason struggled to pull his sword
out of Lugal. “Touch her, touch either of them, and you will not
leave this room alive!” he roared at Red.

But Red had thrown Lugal hard,
and Iason’s sword was almost hilt deep in him. It was taking too long for him
to pull it out, and Red was right on top of me. “A hundred humans could
not restrain me,” Red spat back at Iason. “What can one mortal do
alone, no matter how pretty a sword he might carry?”

He turned to me, death in his eyes.
I wasn’t sure I minded. What purpose was there to being a harem girl without an
owner? I might as well die with him.

Then something very large and very
fast burst through what little Iason had left of the doorframe, leaped across
the room, and shoulder-checked Red into the far wall.

“Who said I was alone?”
asked Iason.

I looked up to see a familiar, short
figure standing in the doorway. “Sonneillon!” Rhoda ordered in a
clear, bright voice, obviously relishing the moment. “Kill.”

The huge wrath demon roared and
swung a fist at Red, but he was too fast. He grabbed Sonneillon’s arm, swung
around it and onto his back. Claws gripped the hair on the demon’s neck while a
mouth of gleaming sharp teeth widened, preparing to bite down–and then Red howled
and sprang back as a flurry of needle-sharp hairs fired out of Sonneillon’s

Red landed nimbly in a crouch in the
middle of the room, facing Sonneillon. I could see Red clutching his arm–he
was bleeding, a weird silvery-red color but definitely blood. He snarled
and leaped. Sonneillon punched, but Red slid under his fist, between his legs,
and slashed with his claws.

Sonneillon roared, and I saw
droplets of ichor sizzling where they touched floor and cushions. Red seemed
unperturbed as he kipped up to his feet behind Sonneillon, who whirled around
to face the goblin.

Red snarled again as Sonneillon
tried another punch, but Red ducked under it, then jumped the next one, and
then–jammed his clawed right hand shoulder-deep into Sonneillon’s chest.
Sonneillon roared, and shuddered, and I knew he was about to dissolve, and–

And not even someone as fast as Red
could dodge an attack he couldn’t see coming. Behind Sonneillon’s massive bulk,
Iason lunged forward, sword gripped in both hands. It plunged straight through
Sonneillon’s back and out the other side–right into Red’s grinning face.

An unearthly shriek echoed through
the room as Red dissolved into silver dust. Sonneillon shuddered as well, and
then melted away into goo, which soon dissolved as well.

The four of us stood, Iason, Iola,
and I panting, while Rhoda leaned against the doorway looking smug.

“How–?” Iola started.
Then, “Who–?” She shook her head. “No, first things
first.” She picked up Iason’s sword, lifted it in both hands, and stabbed
it down hard into my discarded clothes. There was another sizzling
sound, a little zap–and their magic was gone.

“Lemma?” asked Iason,
looking at me with concern.

“I’m okay,” I said,
surprised to hear myself say it, and even more surprised that it was true.
“Between destroying the enchanted garment, killing Red, and killing Lugal,
the geas had no anchor, so it dissolved, and took the glamours with it.”

“Just to be sure,” Iola
said darkly, and held out the sword. I gingerly touched the side of the blade
with one bare hand; nothing happened. “Good,” she said, but she
didn’t sound happy about it. “So… who is this person, and what
just happened?”

“What?” gasped Rhoda.
“You’ve never heard of Rhoda the Mighty?”

“You may just earn that
name,” I said. “How did you manage to get a demon inside a temple?
This is sacred ground!”

“Well…” she admitted,
glancing at Iason. “I may have had help.”

“Oh,” I said. “Of
course, the sword. It… what, cleared a path through the holy magic and let
Sonneillon through?”

“Yeah,” said Rhoda.
“Seriously though, next time you call me in for backup, can you pick
somewhere easier for me to get into? Like, literally anywhere?”

Iason leaned past her out the door,
and looked up and down the hallway. “We need to move,” he said.
Sonneillon and I killed a lot of guards to get here. Well, I killed
guards, Sonneillon killed anyone he saw.“

"Sorry,” said Rhoda,
blushing slightly. “Controlling him is hard enough normally, but in here?
It was all I could do to get him not to attack allies.”

“Anyway,” said Iason,
“we need to get out of here before the rest of the guards follow
the trail of screams and blood.” He shook his head. “I’m getting to
be like you, Lemma.”

“What’s that supposed to
mean?” I asked sweetly. “I don’t leave trails of blood, I leave
trails of fire. Case in point…” Turning, I examined the walls. Then,
with a shrug, I picked the one by the pillows and started blasting.

As we left the city in a calm and
orderly fashion, by which I mean one step ahead of a very angry army, Iason
filled me in on the rest: like I’d guessed, he’d been kicked out as soon as we
were led away. While he tried to figure out how to rescue us from what he now
knew was a trap, Rhoda showed up looking for me, so they teamed up.

“What I don’t get,” he
said, “is how Rhoda knew to look for us there?”

“Oh, that was me,” I
replied. “Remember that backup I sent for in Khemeth? I used a grateful
ghost to take a crossplanar message, let the demons know I wanted Rhoda to meet
me in Lagasch as soon as possible.”

“And eventually they got the
message to me,” Rhoda said. “Silly Sonneillon tried to tempt
me with it, get me angry by refusing to tell me what it said, but I forced it
out of him. And then I just summoned an Erinye to fly us here, took less than a

“Okay,” said Iason,
“but why?”

I sighed. “Because there’s one
book left, and if anyone has used it… well, we’re going to need
Rhoda’s help.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about
that myself,” said Rhoda. “What book is it, exactly?”

I sighed. I didn’t want to say it;
it made it real. “The one book that might be more dangerous than the Rite
of Uncreation,” I said. “The Sepher Shel Agrat.”

Rhoda’s eyes widened. “You
don’t mean–” She covered her mouth. “I’ve heard of that! Demons have
mentioned it!”

I nodded.

“Care to share with the
class?” Iola asked testily.

“It is the most complete
collection of demon lore ever assembled,” I said. “With it, you could
learn in time to summon anything, up to and including a demon

“Is that as bad as it
sounds?” asked Iason.

“Well, we at least know that
hasn’t happened,” I answered.

“How?” he asked.

“Because they haven’t started
the apocalypse yet,” answered Rhoda.

“Fuck,” he said.


We walked on in silence for a bit,
Iola lagging a bit behind. I pulled back a bit to walk next to her. “Um…
are you okay?” I asked.


I thought about some of what had
happened in the past couple days. What I’d done. “Are we okay?”


Well, shit.

Magical Girl Syn, Chapter 1, Part 6

Mind reeling at what she’d just
witnessed, Cynthia picked herself up off the ground and staggered over to the
old woman. For a moment, Cynthia thought she was dead, but then heard her moan.

“No…” Grankitty said.
“Your birthday… Run, girl… before it… claims you… before… he
finds you…”

Cynthia shook her head. “It’s
gone, Grankitty. We’re safe.” She was crying, she realized. “You
saved us.”

“Not… that…” Grankitty
wheezed. “You… before I…” Her eyes stopped focusing on Cynthia,
or anything else. Slowly she breathed out, a long, horrible rattling sound.

She didn’t breathe back in.

“Grankitty?” Cynthia pled,
shaking her slightly. “Grankitty!”

Through her tears, she saw something
rising from Grankitty’s body like mist. It gathered together in the air above
her, forming into a softball-sized sphere of light and darkness, swirling
around each other but never blending. Cynthia stared at it open mouth, her mind
finally shutting down at one too many impossible things.

The mist finished congealing, and
the ball of light and darkness hung in the air a moment. It bobbed slightly
this way and that, and Cynthia remembered what Grankitty had said about running.
She tried to scramble to her feet, but it was too late. The ball fixed on her,
and then shot forward with blazing speed directly into her heart.

Cynthia gasped as a wave of pure joy
swept through her entire being, light and life and energy singing in her blood.
Then another wave followed, just as pleasurable but utterly different, a
tingling aching bliss that hollowed her out and made her skin tingle. Then
another wave filled her with joyful light, and then again the empty, ecstatic
darkness. Light and dark, joy and pleasure, love and lust swept through her in
wave after after, following each other faster and faster until she couldn’t
distinguish them anymore, could only float limply and helplessly in their grip.

Then the changes began. She could
feel her face shifting, and knew what was happening: her sunburn healed,
blemishes erased, imperfections perfected, until it was as flawless and
beautiful as a doll, just barely recognizable as her own face. Her hair turned
finer and fuller, bursting out of its pigtails and transforming into gentle
waves of perfect gold, which then wound themselves back into perfectly braided
pigtails. Her legs got longer and leaner, her skirt going from respectable to
obscenely short in the process. Her torso lengthened too, her waist slimming
and tummy flattening while her breasts swelled, straining against her blouse.
The blouse lost, buttons spanging off it in every direction, vanishing among
the shelves or bouncing off the ceiling. A moment later, her bra snapped too,
disintegrating away as the remnants of her blouse tied themselves into a knot
below her ribcage, just barely covering the bare minimum of her breasts. Her
shoes and socks shifted too, the former becoming chunky, black, high-heeled
Mary Janes, while her socks lengthened, creeping past her knees and halfway up
her thighs.

The light faded, and she floated
back to her feet. She ran disbelieving hands over her face, chest, belly. She
felt incredible, more alive and more powerful than she’d ever been in
her life, and her skin tingled everywhere she touched.

And if bare skin felt that good…
She ran a hand up to her breast, and gently stroked through the thin fabric.
Fingertips brushed over her nipple–and her eyes rolled back as her knees
nearly buckled.

“Ohhh wooooow…” she
breathed. Grinning breathlessly as she continued teasing her breasts, she
looked down at the floor, much more distant than she was used to. She ran her
free hand along the strip of bare skin between sock and skirt, then slowly
pulled up the skirt. She licked her lips in anticipation, unable to imagine how
good this was going to feel–

“I wouldn’t do that if I were
you,” said a small, high, but squeaky voice.

She turned and stared at yet another
impossibility: the toy cat she’d been looking at earlier was standing a few
feet away, glaring up at her with hands on hips.

It sighed. “I’m sorry this
happened, but I did try to warn you, Cynthia–well, I guess that name
doesn’t really fit you like this, huh?” It shook its head sorrowfully.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop this… Syn.”

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Magical Girl Syn, Chapter 1, Part 5

Cynthia screamed and struggled in
the creature’s iron grip. She kicked futilely in the air, beat ineffectively at
it with her fists, and screamed until her throat was raw, but it still slowly
lifted her up and back. 

Somewhere below and to her left
there was a flare of light, and then a voice spoke. It was a woman’s voice, a
warm, rich contralto with just a bit of Irish lilt woven through it. “Put
her down, Beast,” she said firmly. “It’s me you’re here for.”

The world spun as the creature
tossed Cynthia aside. She braced herself to hit the ground or a shelf, but
fortunately crashed into a display of stuffed animals. 

She stared at the woman staring
defiantly at the monster. She was standing just where Grankitty had been, but
the old woman in her shawl was gone. In her place was a radiant–literally, the
light earlier had apparently been her–beauty around Cynthia’s age, her perfect
body clad only in a black, lacy corset-and-panties set, matching garter belt
and sheer stockings, long, fingerless black lace gloves, and shiny black high-heeled
ankle boots. 

As the monster charged her, she
laughed and tossed her tumbling mass of curly auburn hair defiantly. Just as
the creature reached to grab her, she jumped and flipped, doing a handstand on
its knobbly hand before throwing herself higher, catching it on the chin with
both boots, then somersaulting backwards in the air before dropping lightly
onto her feet. 

Cynthia stared in shock. Who WAS
this woman? With her perfect beauty and superhuman athletics, she could very
well be an angel… But her body and outfit suggested her origins lay in the
opposite direction. At the same time, there was something familiar about her…

And then it clicked. That impossibly
beautiful, perfect face! Make the nose a little crooked, the eyes a little
smaller, add a mole and wrinkle the whole thing up like a grape turning into a
raisin, and you had… “Grankitty?” Cynthia whispered in disbelief,
still sprawled in a pile of stuffed bunnies and puppies. 

The other woman ignored her, leaping
again at the creature. Her hands flared with light, and it staggered back,

“Yeah!” Cynthia found
herself cheering. “Get that thing!”

But it was rallying. As she sprang
back, it swiped at her, sending her crashing into the wall. She was back on her
feet almost immediately, but not quite fast enough: the thing caught her,
pinning her arms to her sides. She struggled, but it was clearly stronger than

The creature held her in its palm
like a doll, using thumb and fingers to hold her arms. With one swipe of its
other claw, it tore open her corset and panties, exposing full, firm breasts
and a neat triangle of red hair. The fur at the creature’s own crotch stirred,
and a cock emerged, tiny-looking compared to the creature’s massive bulk, but
more than a foot long in reality.

Cynthia screamed again. She’d never
seen a penis before–a real, erect one, not an illustration in a biology book
or photo in a magazine passed around the girls’ dorm accompanied by muted
giggles–but she was sure they weren’t supposed to be that long or thick. How
could that go inside a person!?

But the creature shoved the redhead
onto its cock, and her cry didn’t exactly sound like pain. Grabbing her thighs
in its massive hands, it began pumping her up and down its length, and her
struggles soon ceased. In fact, she sounded to Cynthia almost like she was…
enjoying it?

She cried out, and flared with
light. The creature grunted, shuddered, and then… dissolved away into

Grankitty hit the ground with a sickening crack.

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Magical Girl Syn, Chapter 1, Part 4

Half a continent away from Cynthia’s terror, Kelly opened
the door to her apartment, surprised to find it wasn’t locked.
“Emma?” she called out as she entered the living room, dim and
shadowy by the light filtering in through the curtains. Her girlfriend
shouldn’t be home this early, but why else would the door be unlocked. 

Kelly’s heart froze as she heard a
clatter from the bedroom, followed by a familiar giggle. It couldn’t be,
she thought. Emma’s not–she wouldn’t– But the squeaking of bedsprings
was unmistakable.

Shock gave way to rage, and Kelly
slammed the bedroom door open. Her screaming fury died on her lips, however, at
what she saw: Emma, her lithe body arched backward, her face blissful as she
rode… a man. 

“What the fuck..?” Kelly
breathed. She preferred women but had had flings with guys here and
there–though none since she started dating Emma, obviously. But Emma? Emma was
100% lesbian, zero interest in boning dudes whatsoever. Yet here she was,
apparently having the time of her life fucking a man Kelly’d never seen before,
a wiry little guy, fit but very short. 

The man looked at Kelly, his eyes
deep and dark as a mineshaft. “Hello,” he said with a smile and just
a trace of an accent–British, but something else too. 

“What the fuck!?” Kelly
said louder. “Emma, who is this!?”

Emma kept riding the man, panting as
she turned her head to talk to Kelly. “God, Kels, I had no idea… So
good… Can’t stop…”

“What have you done to her, you
bastard!?” Kelly demanded, stepping further into the room. “Who the
fuck do you think you are?”

“Stop,” the man said.
“Calm down.”

Kelly stood stock-still, feeling her
anger and hurt draining out of her. In its place came a pleasant sort of
floating feeling, a serene unconcern, and that was terrifying. Or at least it
should be, but she couldn’t quite seem to feel it.

The man sat up, holding onto Emma’s
hips to keep her bouncing in his lap. He looked Kelly up and down, and
apparently liked what he saw. “Strip,” he said. 

Feeling like she was in a dream,
Kelly complied. She knew she shouldn’t, but it was so easy to just go along
with it, so pleasant…

“I am glad I spotted you, my
dear,” he said to Emma. “I had no idea I’d be getting two for
one.” He beckoned Kelly to come closer, and she did. 

Any second, she knew, he was going
to order her to join him and Emma for a threesome. That should probably bother
her, but at the moment she didn’t much mind. He seemed able to control her
emotions and actions, so he’d probably make her enjoy it. 

But instead, to her surprise, he
stopped, whipping his head around to stare right through her. A wild,
triumphant grin spread across his face. “Her! She’s finally
activating.” He laughed and shoved Emma of his cock. “You’re mine now!”
he declared to no one in particular, then snapped his fingers.
Clothing–nondescript slacks and a shirt–appeared on him as he got out of bed
and walked toward the bedroom door.

He paused, then turned back to face
Emma and Kelly. “Forget,” he said, making an odd little

Kelly blinked. What had she been
doing? She looked down at her naked body, and then turned to see Emma sprawling
on the bed, flushed, her hair disheveled. Kelly grinned. Right, that’s what.
She leaped onto the bed, and Emma giggled. 

The last wizard on Earth let himself out of
their apartment. As he waited for the elevator, he whistled a tune forgotten
for centuries. He’d found her again, and just in time. Now the plans of a
millenium could be fulfilled.

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Magical Girl Syn, Chapter 1, Part 3

Miss Kitty’s was a strange toystore.
It was not a place to buy Pokemon cards or video games or Barbies. Miss Kitty
mostly sold dolls and stuffed animals, ugly, lumpy things that were almost
impossible not to love, at least for Cynthia. Also stickers, huge sheets of
them kept by the checkout counter, and every single year as far as she could
remember Cynthia had received one on her birthday. 

As she walked deeper into the shop,
a bent figure shuffled slowly around the corner. “Grankitty!” Cynthia
cried as if she hadn’t seen the old woman at least once a week for the past

“Cynthia,” the old woman
said gravely. 

They were not actually related.
Cynthia had simply declared Miss Kitty, the wizened old shop owner, her
grandmother on first meeting her, and kept calling her that since. She made a
good grandmother–she was quiet and serious, but indulgent as long as Cynthia
wasn’t too noisy or messy, and something about the way her green eyes twinkled
in that wrinkly dark face screamed “witch.” Cynthia was quietly
certain Grankitty was, if not magic herself, at least privy to secrets beyond
what the nuns could or would teach. She ran a small, dim, old-fashioned
toyshop, how could she NOT have something mysterious tucked away in the back?

“Here for your birthday
stickers, child?” the old woman asked. 

“Of course.” Cynthia

“Not too old for them?”

“Never!” Cynthia cried in
mock-horror. “I plan to be young forever, and the secret is

The old woman chuckled drily.
“Good luck to ya, then,” she said. Every once in a while just the
hint of an accent Cynthia couldn’t place would creep through. 

“Ruthie thinks I’m too
old,” said Cynthia. 

“Fah! I’m thrice as old as the
two of ya together, and I’m not yet too old for stickers.”

Cynthia’s eyes drifted upward,
flicking back and forth as she did the math. “How old ARE you,

“As old as my tongue and
slightly older than my teeth,” she replied sternly. “And you, child,
are old enough to know better than to ask that kind of question.”

“Yes, Grankitty,” Cynthia
said dutifully. She turned to browse the shelves, looking for anything new the
store might have gotten in since her last visit. 

After a few minutes, she found
something, an adorable, floppy stuffed tiger kitten, about four inches long.
“Grankitty?” she called out. “How much is…" 

She trailed off as she stepped
around a shelf and saw Grankitty’s face. It was white as a sheet, and she
looked like she was about to be sick.

"Grankitty–” Cynthia
started, but Grankitty cut her of with a gesture. In the silence, Cynthia
listened. She had grown up in the city; the whine of sirens and thump-thump of
construction was just background noise to her. But those weren’t just sirens
she could hear; there were screams mixed in as well. 

The thumping grew closer, faster, the toys
rattling on the shelves as the ground shook, and then–

Cynthia saw it just a moment through
the crowded display window, a massive, dark, hulking shape, and then the whole
front wall caved in. Shards of glass and bits of green-painted wood showered
over her as she screamed. 

The thing was so tall it had to
hunch over to fit inside the shop, and as wide as it was tall. It was dark
greenish-brown, and scaly where it wasn’t furry. Its legs were thick and squat,
its arms were lean, muscular, much too long for its body, and ended in massive
clawed hands. 

She screamed again, kept screaming.
She’d fallen onto her butt at some point, and scrambled backwards in a panic as
the thing reached for her. She rolled over, onto her knees, struggling to get
away and get to her feet at the same time. 

Then the huge claws were wrapping around her
torso, impossible strength pulling her back and into the air.

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Magical Girl Syn, Chapter 1, Part 2

Cynthia met Ruth outside the huge iron
gate that separated St Anne’s from the city. The two of them had spent their
entire childhoods living behind those gates, living in the orphanage and going
to the school under the baleful eye of the nuns. It hadn’t been a bad
childhood, but like any child they were impatient for it to end. 

They ducked into the restroom of the
convenience store down the street from the nunnery to apply forbidden makeup,
giggling all the while. When they were done, Cynthia examined them both in the

Ruth was, of course, gorgeous. Ruth
was always gorgeous. Dark, flawless skin, a fountain of straight black hair
that cascaded to her waist, big dark doe eyes. By comparison, Cynthia felt
pale, plain, and flabby, blotches of still-healing red sunburn on her
paper-white nose and cheeks, her blonde hair more frizzled straw pigtails than
fountain of gold. 

She popped the top button on her
blouse to show a bit of collarbone. She knew by most teenagers’ standards that
was nothing, but after almost two decades in a nunnery it felt bold, daring, a
little naughty. Well, I’m a grownup now, aren’t I? she thought, and
undid the bottom three buttons to expose her midriff. Tying off the blouse just
below her navel, she eyed herself critically in the mirror. 

“Hot,” laughed Ruth. 

Cynthia poked herself in the belly
twisting this way and that. “I’ve got a muffintop,” she said. 

“Do not,” replied

“Do too! See?”

Ruth waved a hand dismissively.
“That’s not a muffintop, you just have internal organs, unlike

Cynthia laughed as the two emerged
into the hot summer afternoon. “I’m pretty sure models have organs,

“They photoshop them out,”
Ruth said vaguely. “So, where we going first?”

“How can you photoshop out internal
organs, they’re inside you! And Miss Kitty’s,” Cynthia said decisively.

Ruth groaned. “I thought today
was about celebrating being adults!”

“It is! But I’m not passing up
birthday stickers!”

“Those are suppose to be for,
like, five-year-olds, Cynthia.”

“Free. Stickers. Free

Ruth sighed. “Fine, you get
your free stickers. But I’m not going to a toy store! I’m going to that
boutique on 12th. See you there when you’re done?”

“Sure,” said Cynthia,
trying to hide a sly grin. Ruth obviously just wanted to split up so she could
buy Cynthia’s birthday present, so Cynthia wasn’t about to object. 

Cynthia practically skipped her way to the
little toy shop a few blocks down from St. Anne’s, Miss Kitty’s Curios and
Amusements. She pushed open the green-painted door next to the big display
window and found herself once again in fairyland. 

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Magical Girl Syn, Chapter 1, Part 1

Cynthia chewed her pencil as she
watched the clock slowly tick its way to 4. Around her was the buzz of hushed
conversation, the barely restrained exuberance of bored teens whose exams are
over, trying to stay beneath the notice of a strict but slightly deaf nun, but
at the same time vibrating with the awareness that there is very little she
could do in the scant minutes between them and freedom. 

But for Cynthia, this was more than
the countdown to her final day of high school. This was her birthday, the day
she became an adult, and she and her best friend Ruth planned to spend the
entire afternoon celebrating. But of course that meant time was slowing down as
she stared at the clock; clocks, Cynthia had always suspected (as, on some
level, most people do), know when they’re being watched, and deliberately, maliciously
slow down. 

She believed in magic. We all do, of
course–magic is just talking at things to get them to do something. It works
on people all the time, and sometimes animals, so we never entirely learn that
it doesn’t work on anything else. Even if you think you know better, you don’t;
every time you sing “come out, come out, wherever you are!” to your
keys, or curse your crashed computer and call it names, or chant “come on,
come on…” as the man on TV carries the ball toward the end zone, that’s
the part of you that believes in magic trying a spell. 

Cynthia didn’t believe she knew
better. She was convinced that there had to be more to the world than “go
to school, get a job, marriage, kids, retirement.” There had to be more
than the gray city with its gray sky and gray people. She knew, not just deep
down but out on the surface, that she was destined for adventure, excitement,
and romance. 

Unfortunately for her, she was

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Titans Together, Part 3

Commission for Jurodan based on pictures and outline they provided. Commission your own captions via my Patreon!

Shares appreciated, as Tumblr will block this from showing in public tags!

(Continued from this post)


Starfire gave one last shuddering cry of pleasures and lay
back, exhausted. Raven sat up between the Tamaranian’s legs and licked her
lips, savoring the sweet taste of alien pussy. It had felt so good, so, so
good, to share pleasure, to give and receive it. But now she felt herself
calming down, coming back to herself–and something was clearly wrong.

She still had a strange current of underlying–well, horniness
was the only word that came to mind. It was sated for the moment, but she could
feel it at the back of her mind, and that was weird. Starfire was drifting off
to sleep; Raven slid to the floor, summoned her full outfit to herself, and
floated silently out into the hallway.

Something very, very strange was happening to her. Twice in
one day, sexual thoughts and desires had overwhelmed her. How could she face
Starfire in the morning? How could she explain this? And more importantly, how
could she have let her emotions get so out of control? Knowing how dangerous
she could become if she let them loose?

She needed to understand what was happening, and with her
emotions sliding off-balance like this, she couldn’t trust herself to do it
alone. She needed help, someone she could trust. Someone who had already trusted
her with his secrets, and accepted hers as well. She needed Robin.

He wasn’t hard to find. This time of day, he was usually in
the Tower gym, and today was no exception. But he wasn’t working out; he was
just sitting on the bench in the locker room they’d installed when the team
roster had swelled rather a bit bigger for a couple of years, and never gotten
rid of after it dwindled back down to the core five. Just sitting there,
looking as upset as she was, if not more.

“Robin?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

“Raven,” he said. “I… um, I saw you. And
Starfire. I didn’t mean to! I just heard noises from her room, and I thought
she might be in some kind of trouble. The door was open so I looked in,

“Oh,” said Raven. “Robin, I’m… I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean to, it just sort of happened. I… I don’t even understand it
myself.” She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched away
slightly–but then he relaxed, and let her put it there.

Still unwittingly lost in Raven’s mindscape, Beast Boy found
himself encountering her yet again, this time wearing glasses and a yellow
cloak. “Hey sexy lady,” he said, sidling up to her and putting an arm
around her. “Back for more?”

He might not know where he was or what was going on, but if
it meant more fun with Raven, he was all for it.

“More of what, precisely?” asked Raven, adjusting
her glasses.

“Oh, don’t play, baby! More of this!” Beast Boy
drew her close and kissed her until her glasses fogged.

“Ah,” she said. “Intriguing. Perhaps further
investigation of this is indeed warranted…”

Raven looked down at Robin, the whipcord muscles in his bare
arms, the tight gymnast’s body under his costume. It’s happening again. I
should pay attention, figure out what this is…
But paying attention to
Robin was more interesting. She couldn’t help but be curious what it would feel
like to run her hands over his body.

“Robin…” she asked slowly. “How come you
and I never…”

“What?” he replied, startled.

“You know,” she continued, leaning down.
“We’ve known each other for a long time, we’ve been inside each other’s
heads, you went to hell to bring me back after that whole thing with my
father… It’s not like we’re not close. How come we never… y’know? I mean…
do you not think I’m attractive?” Her cloak fell to the floor, leaving her
in just her tight black leotard.

“Uh, well,” Robin stammered. “I mean,
obviously, you’re, you’re really pretty, but…”

“But what?” she asked, and bent down to kiss him.
“Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like? Because I’m wondering…
and I think we should find out… right now.”

She took his hands in hers and brought them to
her breasts, kissing him again and again. With a thought, she willed her
leotard to dissolve, so his gloved hands met bare, soft skin. “See?”
she said. “It feels good. What else could we do that feels good?” She
dropped a hand to the crotch of his tights and felt him through the thin
fabric. He was already hard, to her delight.


The two slid to the floor, where Raven pulled down his
tights to let his cock free. She positioned herself over it, her already wet
pussy dripping onto it. “Robin…” she moaned. This isn’t me,
she thought, almost said… but she didn’t want to, because if she did, he
wouldn’t fuck her. She wanted that, needed that, needed to know what it would
be like. If she didn’t, she would wonder forever, and she couldn’t bear that.

“Ohh…” she groaned as she slid him
up into herself. “Yesss… so goood, Robin…” She began to slowly
ride his hips. “I’m certain Starfire wouldn’t mind… if we shared her…
wouldn’t mind sharing you with me…” She threw her head back and moaned.
“I wonder what it’d be like if we… all three…”


Raven quickly learned what it was like to fuck Robin
cowgirl-style. Shortly after, she learned what it was like to lean against a
wall while he lifted her leg and fucked her from behind. She learned what his
cock felt like in her pussy, between her breasts, in her hands, in her mouth,
and what his mouth felt like on hers, on her neck, on her breasts, her belly,
her pussy.

All in all, the next few hours were a very educational
experience for all involved.

Raven’s Intellect came hard under Beast Boy,
screaming in incoherent ecstasy as she was absorbed by Raven’s Passion. She
clung to the oblivious young man happily, albeit stickily. A huge part of Raven
had just come under her control, probably the second-most powerful of her

It’s just going to get easier from here, she thought, purring
as Beast Boy filled her pussy with his cum yet again.

(To be continued…)


Hailee Lautenbach

“Please. I’ve tried every ring I have but it doesn’t work. I can’t stop thinking about how it felt to wear yours. No doubts, no hesitation, just pleasure and obedience… I know it’s wrong, I know I should stay as far away from you as possible, but–God. I need it. Please, I’ll do anything, just give me the ring and make me your slave again…”

One of our researchers overstepped her bounds recently. She exposed her favorite starlet to the compound and reprogrammed her as a plaything, creating much more of a mess than we were planning to deal with at this early stage.

The researcher has now been appropriately–even poetically–dealt with. She will be made available to the rest of the research team as stress relief. Both a reward for their compliance with protocol… and a warning of what could happen if they cross the Organization.