Magic Mapmakers' Masturbation

A girl helps make maps with cum, in Leinyere.

###Disclaimer. This is not a pornographic tale, although there will be several hints of masturbation.

My first contribution to the Event "Tales of Leinyere Story Event 2023" is just to aid the other stories set in Fantasy. I beg the other Authors (who are hotter than I am) to provide maps to the characters in their stories as well, not just the readers.

English is not my native language, please forgive my mistakes.###

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Chapter 1: Marina's Mirror.

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Marina was a nineteen-year-old girl who lived on a farm in Leinyere.

She had numerous brothers and sisters, and it was very rare that she had free time to spend in front of the mirror. But that day was her birthday: they had given her a new Mirror, and she was brushing her hair, thinking about the cake she would eat that night.

Suddenly the mirror went dark, and the face of a wrinkled old woman appeared: nice, but quite old.

The old woman said, "Good morning, maiden. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Helga and I am a Helper of the Magical Mapmakers of the Guild in Witch Tit Tower. I am here to offer you a full-time job: minimum duration one month, but it can be extended if you wish...some stay on for dozens and dozens of years!"

Marina had heard about the famous mapmakers but wasn't sure it wasn't all a silly joke. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"Oh, the contract is absolutely valid: we sent a copy to your parents. We know everything about you, and about you: your name is Marina, you have seven siblings (five girls and two boys), and you like dancing, singing, and long walks among the flowers."

"Okay. Easy to guess, but correct. What's next?"

"Our detector of Youth With High Potential identified you as a skilled and tireless girl. The magical mapmakers are a very wealthy guild. They will pay a very good reward to you, as a working person (with the rank of First Level Helper), and there will also be compensation for your family, to indemnify them from the lack of prompt notice. Food and lodging will be paid for by the Guild: you will live with us in the Tower."

"But I have to decide just like that, on the spur of the moment, now? And I can't even say goodbye to my mother and father?"

"No, that was the recruitment in use a few centuries ago, now we have modernized. The letter with the contract is waiting for you along with your birthday presents: you have one week to accept or reject it. However - and here let me speak from my personal experience - here the environment is magnificent, the view is wonderful, the food delicious, and there are no diseases: not to mention that if you want to leave, on the 30th day you will be free to return to the farm."

With that said, the mirror darkened, and Marina stood staring at her own reflection. She was very surprised.

She decided to consult with her family. Mom and Dad encouraged her: it was a great opportunity, and if she did not like it, she could return after the 30th day, after learning very valuable techniques from the Mapmakers Guild. Marina ate, drank, slept, thought calmly about the decision she had already made, finally said goodbye to all her friends and relatives, and prepared to leave.

A week later, the whole family was together with her in front of the mirror. At the appointed time the old woman appeared. "We know that you all decided together to allow you to take advantage of this job offer. Give me your hand and come with me!"

Marina held out her right hand. In an instant, her body vanished, and Mom, Dad siblings, and friends stood contemplating her empty clothes slowly sagging on the floor. She had left, but without luggage, and without clothes. Everyone muttered that probably at the top of the Tower built above Witch's Tit Mountain, Marina would need warm clothing.

An old uncle muttered that it was all predictable from the start. The most inaccessible mountains in the world have always been named after women's breasts: an ancient king who had conquered entire continents had had to stop in front of Ubera Aquilonis, the boobs of the Northeast, an impassable mountain range. Besides, said the uncle to the girl's parents, you called her Marina, in front of this mirror, but don't you know what a Mariner's Mirrour is? We can see that you farm country people do not know the sea, and you think my oar serves as a shovel to bake bread.

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Chapter 2. The Tower of the Magical Mapmakers' Guild.

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"Open your little eyes! And now we are already here!" said the old woman.

"Good! I was afraid I would have to walk all the way here from my farm and climb this impassable mountain."

"No, that was the old way, it's been centuries since anyone has done it that way."

"Why am I naked?"

"Because it's hot here, girl. Anyway, if you need clothes, or costumes to excite the mapmakers, we have everything--furs, boots, wooden high-heeled shoes, pirate tricorns, maid aprons, and any costume you can think of. But personally, I think eco-fantasy fur always has its own appeal [Note: eco-fantasy are furs magically made by magical tanners, without using the skin of wild animals. No animals were mistreated or bred specifically to make fur from them, at least as far as the Mapmakers Tower in the magical world of Leinyere is concerned].

The old woman offered Marina a soft, dark faux fur coat that covered her boobs and pussy, leaving her shoulders and thighs uncovered.

The young woman objected, "How can I help the magical mapmakers? I'm only nineteen years old and I don't know anything about drawing, cartography or miniature! I'm just a country girl from the farm! I don't even know how to use the pestle in the marble mortar to get the colors from the crystal stones!"

The old woman squinted her eyes as if to look into the reluctant girl's soul. "Mapmakers don't need you to prepare colors, knead egg and ruby powder, or scratching the red rust from corroded iron bars, or melt copper from the bright green color. Those are tricks that can work in some makeup artists' dressing rooms. Here we are in the Tower."

"So what? How can I be a Helper?"

"Now I'll tell you the Big Secret. With gestures, rather than words. I'll show you how I help."

Without wasting any time, Helga led Marina into the Mapmakers' Great Hall. It was a large circular hall, with many thrones scattered around the perimeter. Mapmakers of every race and gender were sitting with their legs spread wide open and waiting patiently, almost dozing. They were all naked.

The old woman fished a letter out of a wicker basket. After a quick glance, she rubbed it on the forehead of an elderly, wrinkled, white-bearded Magical Mapmaker. With a quick move, she grabbed the Mapmaker's cock and rubbed it vigorously to get a quick cumshot.

The girl stared open-mouthed at ropes and ropes of cum, floating in the air.

Helga spread a sheet under the cum and waited for it to settle.

The old woman giggled. "That's the magic of the Tower, little girl. The air at this altitude is so rarefied, cum floating in the air. With the power of thought (but unconsciously), the mapmakers create the map that has been requested of them. Sometimes support also materializes out of thin air: a parchment, a papyrus, a sheet of paper (but a thin-weave linen sheet will do). Other times it is we helpers who have to superimpose a sheet over the floating sperm so that it sticks to the surface.

If the request was written appropriately, and if the mapmaker was excited enough, names and captions will also appear, written in the developer's preferred language. Some maps even had two languages. But this was a very simple request, a map for school use, and all it took was a saw."

The old witch looked at the girl and said, "Here, in the Tower, there are no races or genders. There are only Magic Mapmakers. To simplify my explanation, I will tell you words that might distract or confuse you. I will tell you "that man," but he could be a Dwarf, an Elf, a Feline, a Minotaur. I'll tell you 'that male' but he could be gay, bi, trans..."

"Trans?"

"Transfigured by a sorcerer, transformed by a witch, or more easily, transvestite from transexual Transheepvalleya, and many others..."

"What?"

"You don't know the region of Transheepvalleya? It lies beyond a valley where shepherds raise flocks of sheep, such as goats and rams. You don't remember it, do you want me to draw you a map?"

"You could make maps?"

"Oh...no, dear. I am only a Helper. But there are women, or at any rate females of any fantasy race, who can make magical maps."

"But-that's impossible! Females do not ejaculate sperm! Do you mean to say that they make maps by squirting?"

"What, no, of course not. Squirting is fun but then it leaves a mess everywhere."

Marina was pouting. "Ah, that's hilarious. Everyone is cumming and the cum is floating in the air, and you're worried that a squirting female might leave a mess!"

The girl appeared genuinely angry. This diversity of roles seemed too humiliating to her.

The old witch tried to soften her own hoarse voice as intensely as possible.

With a sigh, she whispered, "Mapmakers' assistants are not always female. My master was a male, and he was very skilled at making cocks cum, both with his mouth and with his hands, and in other ways, too.

But most mapmakers are male. The exceptions are rare, but they are considered very valuable. Now I'll explain how it works with females.

When female orgasms, here in the fairy world of Leinyere, the vaginal humor remain impregnated with the power of orgasm. I don't know if there is an alchemical explanation, alchemists disagree. Here at the Tower, we rely on experience, not theory.

Experience tells us that if you collect the vaginal humor of a female Magic Mapmaker after she has had an intense orgasm, she gets an extraordinary map.

Also: if you rub a Magic Mapmaker already created by a male, over the female's wet labia after she has had an intense orgasm, the map will be filled with long legends, with captions telling through long word phrases everything ever heard narrated about a certain place. I once took a scroll, with all the maritime coastlines already drawn by a male cartographer. Only the names of towns, headlands, and river mouths were written on it.

I heard a female cartographer (never mind the race. However, if you ask me, she was a Cat: but there are also Elven, Human, Dwarf, and so on) masturbating frantically. Maybe I had turned her on while sucking the cartographer's cock, or maybe she was recalling memories of previous orgasms, I don't know. I heard her summoning, and ran next to her.

Her hand beckoned me to rub the parchment.

Magically, I saw the large white areas left blank on the first draft of the map, filled with long sentences and explanatory captions.

First, a certain section of the coastline read, "Brightown, city, and harbor. 5 eastward, Thammes, river mouth. 2 southward, Doower, cliffs."

After I had dipped the parchment on her wet labia, the same stretch of coastline read:

"Brightown, town, and port on the River Thames. Built many centuries ago, it includes large warehouses and the mightiest pulleys for unloading trading ships. A market for food goods every Tuesday, a market for textiles and metals every Thursday. Sacred city for worshippers of Krall'a, He Who Cleanses.

This town has excellent taverns and the best beer in the world. A tower on the main pier is lit by a large flame, lit day and night to help sailors.

5 Eastward, Thammes, mouth of the river. Very good, disease-free drinking water can be collected here. Many ships stop on purpose for watering. Sailors claim that here in the river mouth it is possible to meet mermaids sitting on the rocks, looking toward the coast with wistful eyes. According to some legends, these mermaids are good and sexually available; according to other legends, they have poisonous teeth and eat the flesh of careless sailors. I don't believe it but I have a duty to report what the locals tell.

2 southward, Doower, a white limestone cliff that can be recognized from afar, even during the darkest storm. Nicknamed "The Lighthouse" or even "The Blessed One." Legends say, that no conqueror has ever managed to invade Doower beach: hence the nickname "None-King's Landing." Miners in the quarries obtain slabs of white marble that are transported by wagons to Thames, and are much sought after for regalia, temples, and noble palaces all over the continent."

"Oh! All this information after a rub on the labia?"

"It's a kind of magic!"

"It's a miracle! A miracle...we are waiting for..."

"But I want to break free...I've been living in the Tower for so many years, and now I really want to leave." The old woman looked really tired: perhaps for that reason, she had chosen to make a simple map with a saw.

"I understand that. Staying here is like being a prisoner." There was a lot of sadness in Marina's voice.

"No. You can leave whenever you want. I could have left many years ago. But I liked looking at the maps-and I liked the atmosphere of sexual tension here in the Tower. But so many years have passed and now I need to leave.

Whatever.

Just so it's clear: even some males can produce so many long captions for maps. The secret is to rub the parchment on the knob and dip it in the precum that forms after long edge sessions. But usually, male Mapmakers just want to cum in spurts, to increase the pace and speed: it is very rare that any of them want to devote so much time just to lengthen the captions sentences."

Marina nodded her head.

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Chapter 3 How To

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The old woman led Marina into the anteroom dedicated to the Helpers, outside the circular Great Hall of the cartographers.

"I am old, and a fortune teller warned me that I will die soon. So the Guild of Magic Mapmakers has asked that the gods send a young apprentice. I will teach you everything I know, and you will come here to replace me."

"But they are holding me captive!"

"You are free to return to your people on the farm whenever you wish. Other female apprentices married and had children and grandchildren. But I preferred to stay here. You are free. You can leave when you want, and come back when you want. But you will find that being here in the Cartographer's Monastery offers moments--very pleasant, intense, and sloppy."

Near the entrance, the girl saw many papers. They looked like letters, though they varied greatly in size: some were small notes fit for a Pixie, others were large rolled scrolls, and still others were books bound with a heavy studded leather cover.

"Do you see all these Requests? They are pleas, made by a Leyneire resident in need of a Magic Map. Each letter is written in a different alphabet and with very different calligraphy, but don't worry: as soon as a letter enters this tower, you will be able to figure out what it wants telepathically.

To work, magic needs three ingredients. One is the Request. Another is a drop of bodily fluid from the person who needs the map. This could be a drop of blood (usually for wars), a drop of semen (for trade), a tear (for injustice), or a drop of sweat (for sports activities, and games!). Or other less frequent but still significant bodily fluids; let's not waste time listing them all.

The third and most important ingredient is the mapmaker's orgasm. The ancients believed that the ingredient was semen, but when female mapmakers began to be present, everyone understood that the ingredient was orgasm: semen simply works as an ink.

Cartography works a bit like Alchemy.

Do you know that old proverb? «Alchemists are fantastic when it comes to changing one thing into another, but they suck at creating something from nothing.»

The difference is that a Mapmaker doesn't suck: it's the Helper, who sucks, usually, ha ha!"

Marina did not laugh: "I get it. But what's in it for me?"

"Wait until you at least get your first blowjob, cutie... The letter will determine the language used on the map: if written by a goblin, it will expose goblin toponyms; if by a desert dweller, desert toponyms, etc. (both in proper names and common names: for example, in the desert language "Mountain" is called "Giant Dune"; and "Sea" is called "Ten Thousand Liquid Dunes").

Each cartographer sits motionless in front of an oblique table on which a ready-made scroll is spread. The apprentice must open and put the supplicant's request inside a mapmaker's hand or on his forehead. When the mapmaker has an orgasm (aided by you, of course), the magic will allow the scroll to imbue itself with the propaganda and will of the person who paid for it: a king, a sorcerer, a hero, a cheese merchant, anyone."

The girl thought to herself that perhaps this magic could also work to test whether a pretender to the throne was just a Usurper, or whether he was the king's son (a kind of DNA test for paternity recognition). Once a prince sent a letter asking for a map to win the war for his own people, ignoring that he himself had been kidnapped and adopted by the king who had killed his parents: the map recognized his blood and showed (to him and to everyone) that he belonged to the people they had taught him to dispress. And then they say the history of cartography is boring!

"The ingredients are all provided by the contractor. Except for the cartographer's semen: which must be obtained from the apprentice, with tits, lips, or little hands. It is necessary for him to have a real orgasm, intense and powerful. Now, to begin, place a scroll in this mapmaker's hand, and give him a blowjob.

The letter of request is signed by a prominent Dwarf trader--he wants a map devoted to trade, routes, routes, location of mines and raw materials, location of markets and ports. You can tell by the presence of the sperm on the signature.

The Dwarves are fixated on cardinal points, and each map must be square and oriented with the utmost respect for their four main deities: Mother Earth, Father Fire, Brother Air, and Sister Sea. Sometimes, the demands involve strict subdivisions of the square into Meridians and Parallels, to achieve geometrically sound maps; other times, some Dwarves are content to point generically to the East with an arrow. Other peoples are less demanding, others more so, it depends.

Now give this mapmaker a first-class blowjob..."

"But he's a human, he's not Dwarf."

"It doesn't matter, the principal does, after all, the mapmaker is only a catalyst of magic, but the first ingredient is the letter, with its alphabet, its culture of origin, the proverbs and religion typical of a specific Viewpoint with respect to the world...."

The girl kneels between the mapmaker's legs and gives him a world-class blowjob.

After the first blowjob, the apprentice sees that the old woman orgasms as the mapmaker cums, and asks her if she masturbated while watching her struggle without getting anything in return.

The hag, still exhausted from her recent orgasm, squints an eye, smiles, and explains, "Sorry, I thought maybe this was the last chance for me, and I stole an orgasm from you! Forgive me...it was my last one, let's say, to face the journey. Eheh...this ring, which you have to hold to your thumb, is a channeler. The more intense the pleasure you give a cartographer, the more intense the pleasure you feel inside."

"Wow, and how does that work?"

"It depends on so many factors: the cartographer, the map, the effort you put into it...YOU. Sometimes it's just a generic wave of pleasure. Other times you feel in the pussy and rosebud as if objects they are drawing on the map enter: galloping horses, roaring lions, bull-headed minotaurs, stampeding elephants.

On these maps, I've seen things you people wouldn't believe... Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Aryllon... I watched Cum-beams glitter in the dark near the Acotinnhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain... Time to die, a small death, a "petite mort" they say...