Magic Mapmakers' Masturbation

The prisoner said the map was hers. The jailers said the map belonged to them because she was a prisoner. The mapmaker intervened in a quiet voice and explained that even a prisoner could have a map: and that the names were written in the prisoner's language, implying that the Map had chosen to belong to her.

The jailers accepted this decision, only on the condition that they could copy from the original. It was just an excuse: they wanted to remove the young duchess' long skirt. First, they tied her hands behind her back, forcing her to arch her nipples upward, then with a knife, they tore her skirt from the spotless part and spread the velvet on the table.

Immediately they summoned some draughtsmen (painters, artists, illustrators, miniaturists) and ordered them to make numerous copies of that map. A sculptor engraved it on a copper plate and then obtained some copies with a press, but they were full of smudges and no one liked them. A painter added colors, painting the velvet with white snow above the mountains and dark green forests. A miniaturist added characters from fairy tales, such as Goldilocks and the Four Boars, or Snow White and the Six Goblins.

Meanwhile, the young duchess, naked and tied up, was in danger of catching a cold, so, according to legend, young castle guards took turns to warm her, embracing her with much enthusiasm. Her arms were bound, but her bare legs were free and could be spread or closed at will.

After copies were made, the skirt was returned to the young duchess. It was then that someone noticed that the map, with all the circular shapes, still worked even when it took on the rounded shape of her hips and buttocks!

A wise old counselor, also a prisoner, said nothing but noticed that strange thing. When both were redeemed by their ruler, the old counselor said the map proved that our world is a sphere. Bah! I only know that that young duchess had many orgasms that day, both with male and female guards."

"But was it a magic map?"

"The one above the skirt, yes: it became a magic map, a famous artifact, known as "The Purple Velvet Map." Its magic was that it was always being updated: if a Nation changed the living region, the map would also change. Copies, on the other hand, were not magic. After a few years they were completely useless because everything had changed except our mountains and a few rivers.

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Chapter 7. Maps for war, maps for peace.

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"Our maps are not all the same. There are maps asked for war, and maps asked for peace."

"And what's the difference?"

"Well, for example, merchants prefer maps in which the roads are greatly emphasized. In fact, practically, a merchant's map contains only the location of resources (such as, for example, a coal mine), the location of markets (the big city where the periodic fair is held), and roads and trade routes (with the location of mountain passes, bridges, and ferries over rivers, ports, and towns where mule and camel caravans can be put to sleep)."

"But the generals of the armies will also want to know the same things!"

"No! Everyone knows that bridges will be destroyed on the first day of the war and that ferries will be set on fire or sunk. The generals need different information. The location of the plains, where cavalry can be launched to the charge. The presence of high mountains and deep ravines, favor the action of archers and crossbowmen. Dense forests, where a small troop of rangers can sabotage the advance of a large army without suffering losses. As for rivers, you know that the oldest trick in the world is to build a dam upstream of a town, divert the river, and leave thirsty citizens without any more drinking water."

"Understood."

"Sometimes the destination of the map is written in the plea letter. Other times it is implied in the bodily fluid that was used. Often blood is for war maps, and often sweat is for commercial maps."

The old woman paused to stare into the young girl's eyes.

"Will you be able to remember all this information from the first week? It took me years before I memorized everything, and yet, new things are always happening. We even have the map of Hop-o'-My-Fkng-Thumb, made from bread crumbs."

"What?"

"Itinerant maps. You see, some merchants are completely disinterested in what happens to the right or left. They only care about the route taken by their camel caravan, or their herd of cargo mules. In that case, the magical mapmaker will ejaculate long, wafer-thin streams of semen. The resulting map will be as thin as a line. Anything that is far from the path will not appear on the map. But it's also a flaw because if a camel strays, the merchants don't know how to go about getting it back."

"Oh."

"Some maps are written in many languages. One town is indicated by two or three names, used by two or three different Nations. One nation calls it the Wood of the Won Wall, while another nation calls it the Forest of the Furry Beaver.

Some maps are multilingual. Other maps appear illegible, either because of the use of a strange language or because of the choice of the alphabet: cuneiform, ideographic, syllabic, or literal.

Sometimes a group of adventurers must keep a prisoner alive, just because only he may read the difficult alphabet on the map. I know a legend, about a group of female Amazons who kept a male alive, handcuffed and bound ... four Amazons would carry him, holding up a long pole, and the captainess would interrogate him, showing him the map, and if he hesitated, she would wipe him on the penis ..."

"She would whip him?"

"No, she stroked him, to weaken his resistance... after ten or twenty minutes, just to be allowed to cum, that one was willing to confess anything."

Then there are "secret" maps, with code names, used only by spies.".

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Chapter 8. The legendary "prisoner's map": the Dungeon.

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Marina still had some questions. "It had seemed to me that the maps were all made at the request of a rich and noble patron: either a ruler or a merchant. You would like to tell me that even a prisoner can ask for a magic map?"

"Sure. It happens a lot. There are people trapped in some prison, trap, or repetitive and boring work. Male, female, or fluid, it doesn't matter, for magic mapmakers it makes no difference.

The requirements are always the same:

An offering that is "important" to the giver (and for a prisoner, it could be something very small, like a loaf of bread: for us, it is little, for him it is a large percentage of the weekly nourishment!).

A drop of a bodily fluid, such as blood or semen;

A letter from which the language, culture, and motivation of the supplicant can be understood.

You do not know the Legend of "D&D's Prisoner," it is very famous!"

"No."

"Blessed child, but don't you know anything at all? This is one of the most famous legends in all of Leinyere! Once upon a time, there was a man who voluntarily submitted to a cruel dominatrix. She held him captive in an underground dungeon, dark and cold. Naked, and chained to heavy iron shackles.

She never allowed him to cum: because he had confessed to being addicted to 'D&D'? D&D is closely related to cartography, practically could not exist without maps."

"And what do these letters mean?"

"Oh, sweet summer child! DUNGEON AND DENIAL!"

"I thought The Nial was the name of a big river that runs through the desert."

"Don't be silly. Denial is when one partner turns the other on, with small or large moments of teasing, but ultimately denies them orgasm. Many people like it, both male and female, or fluid.

That male was caught in the dominatrix's net.

He thought she loved him, but instead, she was merely a sadistic and cruel person. She often whipped him, and beat him, with extreme practices such as ballbusting. She gave him neither food nor drink, and forced him to swallow the semen of ruined orgasms.

The man resisted because he was under the illusion that she loved him. He continued to resist until she told him, sneeringly, that the next day she would bring some friends to humiliate him. He asked if it was merely role-playing, as in the classic "cuckold+hotwife+bull" triad.

She laughed obscenely as she inflicted continuous lashings on his cock, then told him, "There will be at least one Bull, meaning that one of the thugs belongs to the Minotaur people. But there will also be an Orc, some drug dealers from the worst taverns in the northern ports, and other customers ... yeah: customers. I have decided to rent your body (cock, mouth and anus) for money: you mean nothing to me, but at least this way you will become a tool of economic income! Mwahahahah!"

Before leaving, out of extreme mockery, the dominatrix hung the wide ring of shackles keys on his hard cock, and said mockingly to him, "I'll leave the keys with you, you incapable...even if you opened the dungeon doors, you could never find your way out of this maze!"

She left, promising to return the next day with a crowd of noisy, horny males of all imaginary races.

The chained man decided that he could no longer stand the abuse of that sadistic woman. He let the wide ring slide down the limp cock. He bent down, despite the bruises and pain, grabbed the keys, and freed himself from the chains.

He took the handle of the whip with which the Dominatrix was striking her. He peeled a piece of leather from the covering of the handle with his nails, and with blood, he wrote the word 'MAP'. Then he wept, distraught with pain: a big drop of tears."

The old witch interrupted.

"Go on, hideous woman! You can't interrupt a story like this! You are an abominable monster! You cannot interrupt the narrative like this! FINISH-THE-DAMN-STORY!"

"Nice sentence: it reminds me of something.

But you are right: it was at that moment that something... magical happened."

"Ah, no! That's not possible. He writes a plea, I understand, but he has nothing to offer in sacrifice, he is naked and has nothing to give!"

"The tears."

"Tears are just the second ingredient...it is a bodily liquid, like sweat..."

"Tears were the last form of hydration. The bitch never poured him a drink and he was about to die from lack of water. Those tears were the last reserve he had. Do you understand?"

"Oh!"

"In an instant, the leather strip vanished, in a puff of acid-green smoke. The plea reached here in the tower of the Magical Mapmakers. I was not there, but the helper girl was very quick and made the mapmaker cum faster than anyone (and then they say premature ejaculation is a problem...) an intense orgasm. After a second, an entire map was available to the captive. The whole labyrinth was drawn on it, with all the water and food pantries, and the precise location of the traps."

"Traps?"

"Well, sure. You don't need a map to get through a labyrinth without traps... you just lean one hand on the left wall, and keep walking, always touching the wall, and sooner or later you'll get out for sure."

"Are you convinced of that?"

"A Minotaur told me so."

"Ah."

"But if there were traps in the labyrinth, that method doesn't work. Because maybe the wall is covered with poison or touching the wall triggers a mechanism that shoots arrows or opens a chasm in the floor. Quicksand, glue, allergenic or poisonous plants. In short, a lot of annoyances."

"But in the end, the prisoner was saved?"

"Yes. The map that had been disgorged by our early mapmaker was very precise. It indicated which doors to open to find water, coffee, sugar, chocolate, dry cookies, healing powders, healing potions, relaxing herbal teas, bandages to bandage bruises, clean clothes, and more coffee. And which doors hid allergenic plants or another unpleasant mischief. the signpost to the stable: there was the horse he had arrived with, and two other horses that belonged to someone, but they were too tall and big to belong to the little Dominatrix who was short in stature. He decided that the two horses were compensation for all the lies and suffering he had had to endure, and he took them away with him.

Near the main exit, he found writing materials: scrolls, papyri, paper, and brushes. Before leaving, he decided to take a tiny bit of time to leave a message for the cruel woman he had deluded himself into thinking she loved him.

On the front door he hung a scroll filled with words and pictures. The words read, "Goodbye, Bitch. The dungeon map saved me. No use walking if you don't know where to go. Now that you no longer have a prisoner to rent, prostitute your disgusting body, you've earned it."

And then, as a signature, there was drawn the coat of arms of his household: a hand clenched into a fist, with the middle finger raised pointing to the sky. Black on a green field. I don't know what it means, but it always struck me as a very elegant heraldic emblem."

"Oh... I think I know..."

"Shush! YOU don't know anything, White Snow."

"But I..."

"Shut up! No more fairy tales now. Back to business: can't you hear the Call of Duty? Help that old mapmaker cum, that we need more maps."

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Chapter 9. Cartography and Chastography: Manacles and Maps.

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The girl sees a young man with his knees wide open, shamelessly displaying a caged cock restricted by iron bars. "Oh! Is that man imprisoned in a cage!"

"What are you talking about: the man is a mapmaker, one of the most powerful in this tower. The others just make simple Cartography, but he is capable of making Chastography."

"But his dick is locked in a metal cage! How could we get a magic map from him?"

"Ah, little girl...how old are you? Twenty? Haven't you ever heard of men who can cum even without a real erection? This mapmaker specializes in Escapes. His specialty is drawing detailed maps useful for a prisoner to escape: it could be a king locked in a dungeon by an evil usurper, or a princess locked in the highest tower of the castle. Or a rebel who wanted to lead the poor against the taxes of a greedy sheriff, always intent on collecting Quartos and Coppers.

You must give him the postulant's letter, with a drop of a bodily liquid: blood, semen, sweat. Then, you are to tease the young mapmaker with your body. You can undress for him, you can dance, you can caress his balls, you can take the cage in your mouth while you stick a finger in his anus."

"Ouch! Gross!"

"The map, with the escape project, could save an entire people! And you would give it up just not to touch a prostate? That would be a serious disappointment indeed. I am sure you will succeed. Also because the caged mapmaker has very powerful orgasms, and you would feel them in your pussy if you wear the ring."

"Right. I always forget."

"Try it now."

The girl unbuttoned her farm blouse, unfastening large wooden buttons. It was not a fine dress, but the mapmaker was already very excited. She fished out an epistle with a drop of blood as a signature. The handwriting was human, but the blood was that of a feline: probably a leader of the Acoti nation, or a captive cat-maiden somewhere.

The old hag had walked behind the mapmaker's back and locked his wrists with two soft leather handcuffs. As the girl knelt down, to suck his balls, the old woman whipped his back and shoulders with a riding crop. The mapmaker groaned as he clutched the feline letter in his hand.

The girl felt a new warmth inside her that she had never felt before. It was as if she had become a cat in heat, and was being mounted by a huge tiger with a 12-inch-long cock.

She groaned impaled by this mysterious force, while the mapmaker groaned under the lashings.

The girl took the whole cock in her mouth. The hot saliva had an explosive effect on the man's frustrated body, which began to quiver and grunt.

The girl realized from the intensity of her own orgasm that he was about to cum. She sucked one last time, but as soon as she felt the first drops flood her throat, she pulled her mouth away.

Ropes and ropes of cum flew through the air and stopped without falling on the floor. The old hag took a smoked parchment and laid it gently on top of the cum floating in the air.

"See, this semen draws both the image of the building from which the imprisoned person must escape, the valley he must cross, and the passage between the mountains. Everything is there. Even the corridor of the cell, and a poisoned cheese. It's a level of cartographic accuracy that other mapmakers can't match."

The girl squinted one eye. She had almost lost consciousness from the intensity of her orgasm.

"Oh, for the god of peace and the goddess of war! Oh, great Cuck and Whore! I have never enjoyed it so much. Just because I knew he was in pain, just because he was giving up his erection for me to enjoy... and I didn't have to reciprocate... oh, for the sake of The Cuck and The Whore... I feel like I'm going crazy... my head is spinning..."

"Don't worry...you have plenty of time to collect the semen afterward as well, I deposited it on the parchment today because it seemed right to help you, but you won't have to do it right away."

The old hag considered her duty concluded. She greeted the mapmakers for the last time with a wave of her hand and then disappeared.

According to some legends, she was reborn in the form of a mosquito. She still sucks.

According to other legends, she said, "Honolyly, I'm coming!" and then she immediately reappeared on the most beautiful and unknown beach in all the known landmasses. Let's just say that being very map-savvy also has some side benefits.

The girl decided to stay in the Guild Tower. The orgasms she gave herself while pleasuring male and (rarely) female mapmakers were very intense, and some days she even forgot to eat or sleep.

Several years later she was introduced to an assistant. But that is another story.

The End.

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Appendix

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In many Fantasy novels, it is customary to add appendices at the end. The reader might be curious about whether it is possible for a character to reach the Tower, uninvited; how the various Magical Mapmakers are recruited; or whether it is possible to meet a real Magical Mapmaker in forests or taverns, like any accidental encounter in the tradition of novels and role-playing games we know in our world.

But I don't. I don't know how recruitment, either of Mapmakers or Helpers, is regulated. That may be the subject of a later narrative.

I think it is very likely that someone will make it to the Tower, and may be mistaken for one of the Helpers: a newcomer, a novice, someone we don't know but who could still help achieve an intense climax. Since the accuracy of the map also depends on the intensity of the orgasm, perhaps a particularly skilled person might want to participate in person, to get accurate maps.

The only thing I know for sure is that there are quite a few swindling charlatans, who claim to be mapmakers in taverns and courts only to be masturbated by barmaids. Among them, of course, some are really Magical Mapmakers, but drunk, forgetful, or become irrational by the inordinate use of magic tobacco.

Beware: the spermatic drawing floats in the air for a few seconds, if a helper is not quick to fix it on a suitable support (at least a tablecloth or a long skirt) it will disappear into the ground and remain only a vague memory in the eyes of the witnesses. That ephemeral cartographic trace so short-lived is called "sperm in the eyes"-do not try this at home; results may vary.

###Final disclaimer.

In the magical world of Leinyere, magical maps also exist. Since the origins of Fantasy literature, the "geography" of the fictional world has always been considered important by Authors, because what they were telling happened in places unknown to readers and spectators.

Long before JRR and GRR, Homer in the Odyssey and Ariosto in Orlando Furioso took great pains to describe the places of their imaginations.