Ch. 02 - Mind Games

Studying each response carefully, Isobel moved the quill around. She pressed it firmly against Aster's heel, dragged it up along her arch, drew a circle around her ball, and poked each of her toes at the base and the tip. Every assault elicited a fresh moan.

"Aster, how does it feel when I do this?" Isobel pressed her quill firmly into the center of Aster's big toe. She already knew the answer to her question, of course - she could read Aster like a squishy pink book - but it was nevertheless valuable to let a patient speak and to hear their own perception.

"Good," Aster giggled, her voice bubbly and dumb and - owing to the rag currently plugging up her nostrils - nasally. She wiggled her toes as she spoke. "I like it."

"And how about this?"

Aster took a sharp, excited breath as the quill was dragged lightly over her exposed clitoris. That tiny pink button, no larger than a fingertip, sent a jagged spike straight through Aster's tummy where it dissolved into warmth and spread to all her muscles, making them tingle. She smiled a big, toothy smile, her eyes wide and fuzzy.

"Good! Good! Good!"

Isobel nodded, her stern expression unbroken. She gently returned the quill to its resting place and stuck her forefinger into the contents of the wooden bowl beside it. A soft goop, it appeared, creamy white in color.

If Aster had her encyclopedia - and if her brain wasn't putty - she may have recognized that goop to be pepperwood sap. And if she had confused it with milkluck, as many did, she certainly would have recognized her error as Isobel gently smeared it across her clit.

Almost immediately, a gentle buzzing erupted between Aster's legs. Like the quill, it sent a flash of warmth into Aster's tummy, making her body soft and her brain happy. But unlike the quill, it didn't end after a single stroke. The buzzing didn't stop at all. The flash became a flood and the flood and overwhelming sea, drowning Aster in its warmth. She began to writhe, groaning and squirming in her restraints.

With incredible precision, Isobel tugged on one of her countless threads and Aster's body collapsed, sagging limp as butter into her seat. The pleasure remained, just as intense as before and growing more intense with every passing moment, but the novice mage no longer controlled her own muscles. She had been utterly robbed of her autonomy - reduced to a writhing, moaning brain within a floppy, immobile body. And that's how she remained as Isobel collected a new fingerful of sap.

Scoop by scoop, Isobel painted Aster's firm, naked body. She rubbed sap across the young mage's nipples. Inside her bellybutton. Across her ribs and on the insides of her thighs. On her palms and the bottoms of her feet. At the entrance to her vagina and on her puckered butthole. She decorated her patient like a canvas until there was no sap left, her final fingerful smeared across Aster's limp, lolling tongue.

There was nothing behind the mage's soft purple eyes, but Isobel could feel pleasure raging like a wildfire inside her brain. The warmth came from everywhere now. Assaulting her viciously and relentlessly.

Aster tried with all her might to squirm and scream and relive her body of its fiery prison, but every signal she sent was intercepted before it could even leave her brain.

The warmth - now a blazing heat - was filling her up. Seeping into every corner and crevice of her body, making her lighter and happier and dumber. It wouldn't be long before she overflowed. Aster could feel it coming. She wanted to overflow.

Her heart hummed like her skin. Throbbed like her clit. Clenched like her pussy.

Her heart stopped like her brain.

Aster was overflowing.

And then, with the tug of a string, it all disappeared. All the pleasure. All the buzzing. Every last modicum of sensation gone in an instant. The flame snuffed out.

Or, rather, stolen away.

To Aster's sloshy, useless mind, it almost felt as if Isobel had taken the warmth for herself. Found that simple, pea sized bit of brain that controlled the pleasure of an entire body and sucked it dry.

Awareness returned to Aster's muscles and she began to whimper with unrestrained need. Her hands fought to free themselves from their restraints not because she wanted to be set free, but because she wanted to touch herself. Bring the pleasure back. Make herself overflow.

But her bondage was just as unrelenting as Isobel's resolve.

With her fingers still buried deep in the mage's brain, Isobel used the wet rag to wipe down Aster's body, cleaning up every last drop of the sticky sap. Leaving Aster dry.

"...pwease..." Aster's voice sounded just as it did when she begged for her life. Terrified and desperate. "...m-more...pwease gimme moreee..."

Isobel took a heavy breath and rubbed a fold of Aster's brain, temporarily robbing the mage of her ability to speak.

She continued to wash her patient's tight, pale skin with the same clinical efficiency she'd done everything else - not leaving a single spot unclean. Demeter was terrifyingly perceptive, after all.

When she finished, she folded the rag with a single hand and set it back down. Aster, momentarily mesmerized by the dexterity of her captor's fingers, was now staring fixedly at the collection of items beside her, waiting anxiously to see what Isobel would choose next.

The raven-haired beauty made no show of her selection, plunging her fingers into a second bowl without giving Aster any consideration. She withdrew another creamy substance, this one far less viscous than the pepperwood sap, dripping off Isobel's slender fingers.

Aster watched with excitement as those very same fingers reached between her legs. She was practically giggling. What would this substance do? Would it buzz like the sap?

The inexperienced mage gasped in realization as, instead of smearing her fingers around, Isobel pressed them against her hole.

A momentary, nearly imperceptible surprise crossed Isobel's face at the remarkable tightness of her patient.

"Aster, have you ever had something in your vagina?"

The mage tried to respond but the only sound she could make was that of her lips smacking together and her tongue sloshing around. Isobel remembered where her other finger was. Delicately she removed it from the speech center of Aster's brain and asked again.

"...my...vagina...?" Aster looked at Isobel with confusion, furrowing her brow.

"This." Isobel tapped her fingers on Aster's entrance, making the mage smile. "Inside here is your vagina."

"...ohhh..." Aster giggled. "...uh huhhh...Lady Luh- Luh-...mommy showed me h-"

Entirely disinterested, Isobel rubbed Aster's train of thought away and returned her attention to the task at hand, curling her middle finger back so it was only her index finger that threatened to enter Aster's insides.

And then, within a single breath, it was no longer threatening. It was inside - sliding effortlessly thanks to whatever had been in the bowl - and Aster was moaning with glee. Any pain or discomfort she may have felt was trapped and devoured by the complex web woven inside her brain.

Isobel stirred her finger around, searching for the spot that made Aster's brain flicker brightest. She found it not far inside, on the roof of Aster's vagina. It was the same spot she found it in most other women.

Ruthlessly and without a hint of emotion she attacked that spot. Rubbing it with varying patterns and firmness and tempos. Whatever elicited the best response.

In jest, a fellow sorcerer once recommended that Isobel venture into the sex trade, clarifying quite unnecessarily how her skills at lacing would make her highly sought after. Isobel chuckled at the remark, but truthfully the thought repulsed her. The prospect of using her skills for something so transient would be truly deplorable.

Despite her clinical disposition and constant assurances that her acts were strictly professional, there was a deeply rooted part of Isobel that craved the moments of irreversible change she inflicted. To feel a part of herself sink into another - her will and desire overcoming theirs - was an experience unparalleled. There was nothing sexual about, at least not overtly. It was simply the purity of controlling another living being unconditionally and catastrophically, if only for a moment.

She would give her own life in search of that moment if she needed to. But thankfully, she didn't.

What she did need to do was earn a living. More than that, in fact. Owing to her incredible talent (greater even than Demeter's, if only in this single realm of magic) Isobel had been afforded a life of luxury paid for by the odd and often illegal requests of nobility across Cantalia. More often than not, these requests were of a sexual nature.

Her latest task - to install an "off switch" in a certain purple-haired mage's butt, as her client had so eloquently put it - was no different.

And so, Isobel put up with the sex. What she didn't put up with, however, was Aster's relentless squirming and moaning as her inexperienced insides were rubbed and caressed. With another heavy exhale - the only indication of displeasure she ever displayed - she rubbed her fingers around and pulled on threads, turning Aster into a cripple once more - mute and paralyzed as pleasure decimated her brain.

She rubbed viciously Aster's two most tender spots, those pink insides, her brain and her pussy. She filled that beautifully limp body with gushing warmth, just as the mage had begged for. Just as her wealthy benefactor had requested.

Fuller and fuller she filled her, heating her up and melting her brain away degree by degree, the only indication of her awareness being the desperate pleading in her wide, purple eyes. That, and the millions of neurons simultaneously exploding inside her skull.

Eyes pleading for release. Eyes pleading for more. Eyes pleading Isobel to keep her like this forever.

But that's not what the sorcerer was being paid to do.

So as her patient began to overflow with the promise of orgasm, Isobel stole it all away once more, sliding one finger from the mage's pussy while the other sucked up all her pleasure in a single breath, leaving Aster without a whisper of warmth.

Wanting to make sure everything was still intact, she gifted the mage control of her limbs and voice, fighting the urge to take the latter away the second she heard a whine slip past her lips.

"...n-nooo...p-p-pweaseee...gimme moreee...I n-need moreee..."

"Aster, where are you right now?"

The mage closed her trembling lips and looked around the room with her pleading eyes, searching for the answer Isobel wanted. She didn't want such a beautiful woman to think she was stupid.

"...H-Hemmers-Phore..." she guessed, sounding more like a question than an answer.

"No, what room are you in?"

Aster pouted. She guessed wrong.

"...a trappers b-basement..."

"And why are you tied up in a trapper's basement, Aster?"

"...b-because you tricked me..."

There wasn't the slightest hint of fear or regret in Aster's voice. In fact, Isobel could feel a flicker of arousal against her finger at the admission. The sorcerer nodded her approval and turned her attention to the third wooden bowl, this one accompanied by a small silver spoon.

"...c-can I please have mo-"

Aster was suddenly overcome by an immense and crushing sorrow - one like she had never felt before. The world seemed to loom cold and heavy, crushing her beneath its weight. She felt terribly, horrifyingly alone, as though everybody she'd ever loved was dead and everything she'd once cared about didn't matter anymore. Trapped in a basement - abused and violated - she felt like maybe she didn't matter anymore - like maybe she should die.

Forgotten and terrified, she began to cry.

And then just as suddenly as it began, it stopped, and a new emotion flooded her perception, overwhelming everything else. Joy. Pure, radiant elation. Aster felt weightless, as though she was floating through a field of the warmest, most beautiful flowers she'd ever seen in her life. Every fear or heartache or pain she'd ever felt was snuffed out of existence by the sheer perfection of the world. The incredible beauty of life. Trapped in a basement - caressed and sanctified - Aster had never felt so peaceful. So absolutely free.

In love with the world, she laughed.

And then the joy went away and the sadness came back - and she cried. And then the sadness went away and the joy came back - and she laughed. And then she cried. And then she laughed.

Tears streaming down her face as she laughed. Laughter filling the room as she cried.

And Isobel paid no attention to any of it. Her focus was on the third bowl, inside of which she was stirring two powders together as she hurled Aster relentlessly between the totalities of sadness and joy - exhausting further the mage's already wearied mind.

Only when she was satisfied with the mixture did she stop, removing her fingers from that miniscule bit of brain that controlled the emotional experience of an entire life. Aster slouched into her seat, arms and legs sagging against their restraints as she was finally given a moment's respite.

But only a moment's.

Through unfocused eyes still bleary with tears, she could see a spoonful of something pink held delicately between two fingers and floating before her face. With her brain washed of any pesky fear or inhibitions, curiosity ruled Aster's decision making. She wanted to know what pink tasted like. So, leaking a strand of drool as she did, Aster opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue in invitation. A part of her hoped for Isobel's praise at her obedience, but the beautifully distant sorceress didn't seem to care. Aster's obedience was guaranteed, after all.

As the pink hit her tongue, the novice mage was overcome. It was soft - a fine powder that dissolved into her saliva. It was smooth - trickling effortlessly down her throat. But more than anything, it was sweet. Sweeter than anything Aster had ever tasted in her life. The richest honey and the darkest maple and the ripest cob berries all at once. It melted Aster's tongue and soothed her throat and filled her belly with warmth. She needed more.

Greedy and panting like a dog, she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue as far as it would go, begging with her eyes for another spoonful. Isobel nodded and gathered another, this one heaping so full it would have spilled all over if not for the sorcerer's inhumanly steady hands. And with a single twist of her wrist, it all fell into Aster's mouth.

The mage hummed with glee as sugar enveloped her tongue then her brain, making her warm and happy and soft. And then Isobel pulled a thread and it all disappeared. Just like the pepperwood sap on her skin. Just like the finger inside her pussy. All the sweetness was sucked away, leaving Aster with nothing but flavorless powder melting on her tongue.

Horrified, she turned those big, sorrowful eyes at Isobel and opened her mouth to beg for more, but it was already too late, her voice was gone. All she could do was flop her tongue around in silent desperation.

And then she couldn't even do that.

Her body sagged limp and lifeless as the connection between her brain and muscles was clipped. Even her eyes couldn't move, staring wide and empty at nothing in particular. It was in these moments that Aster realized how insignificant her body really was. Everything about her - every emotion or feeling or memory or strength, every movement or thought, everything she was or ever would be - existed in her brain.

That tiny mass of flesh - no bigger than a pair of fists, pink and squishy and weak - was all she really was.

And Isobel controlled it all with her fingertips.

"Hi, Aster."

The sound of Isobel's voice in her ear made Aster's brain shudder with joy. It was a voice inhuman in its beauty - just like the woman it accompanied. As if the voice of the gods spoke through her ruby red lips. Strong like the ocean. Soothing like the breeze. Powerfully soft.

And there was something more to it now. A warmth. Like being held in a lover's arms or lying beside the hearth or a cold day.

Like the embrace of a mother.

It was the same way Lady Liandra spoke and suddenly Aster felt like she was back inside the Inky Mountains - hidden from the evil and terror of the world and nuzzled against the soothing warmth of a bosom. Here, Aster knew she was safe.

She was vaguely aware of sensation returning to her body - her ability to move restored - but the young mage didn't want to move right now. She just wanted to listen.

"I meant what I said on our walk." Isobel's black fingernail traced up her patient's arm. "You're so, so beautiful."

Heavy like a stone, Aster's heart throbbed in her chest. She felt dizzy and her fingers buzzed with electricity. The world seemed to be fading away.

"I think you might be the prettiest girl I've even seen. And so, so obedient."

Isobel's finger wrapped around the mage's delicate chin and tilted her head to the side, drawing her into an inescapable gaze.

Aster's eyes were big and round. A lighter shade of purple than her hair, they were full of unending devotion. Bottomless longing. Eyes begging to be loved.

A beautiful contrast to her captor's.

Sharp and commanding, green like emeralds and flaked with bits of gold, Isobel's eyes were insurmountably strong. Terrifyingly powerful. Eyes full of love.

The young mage lost herself inside their dazzling depths so immediately that the weight of love almost crushed her feeble body to bits. Lost herself so completely that she hardly even felt the fingertip gently nuzzling itself against a small fold of her brain - amplifying individual thoughts and desires and needs far beyond the limits of human experience. Lost herself so pitifully that she almost didn't hear the words spilling from a pair of plump, shiny lips. Almost.

"I'm proud of you."

Warmth flooded Aster's body.

"I'm proud of you for being so strong." Isobel caressed her patient's face as she spoke. "I'm proud of you for leaving home. I'm proud of you for being such a big girl."

The warmth was growing hotter. Spreading further. Filling Aster up. She almost felt like she could overflow, just from Isobel's voice.

"Mommy loves you, Aster."

Isobel's lips crashed into Aster's with the weight of an entire lifetime, enveloping the mage in a soft, plump embrace. Holding her. Swaddling her. Loving her.

And suddenly Aster was full. Fuller than she'd ever been. Warmer than she'd ever been. Happier than her soft little brain could comprehend.

This feeling - the love of a mother - was more beautiful than any other moment of Aster's pathetic life. Better than helping a stranger in need. Better than devoting her life to adventure. Better even than the feeling of fingers sloshing around in her brain.

But as her body overflowed into orgasm, Isobel tore herself away, taking everything with her. All the warmth. All the safety. All the love.

She sucked it all away just like she'd done to everything else.

And Aster - poor Aster, left all alone by her new mommy, just like her old one - was torn to pieces. Where there would usually be begging and thrashing, all she could do was fill with tears and hyperventilate.

But a little tickle on the inside of her brain was all it took to soothe her worry and pain. A little rub and her eyes lost focus. A little pinch and her breathing slowed.

It suddenly occurred to Aster that she didn't even control her own breathing anymore. That's how helpless she truly was.

Why hadn't that thought occurred to her earlier. Why was it occurring to her now?

"Why did you become a mage, Aster?"

The sound of Isobel's voice stole Aster's focus. Beautiful, powerful, warm.

Scary.

Aster didn't remember it being scary.