Majutsu-shi no Chikara Ch. 13

It was a simpler time, Damon snorted in bitter reverie of something only four days past. A time when Ginga was not trying to be his pimp, and the overzealous Abhilash had not tricked him into fucking a harlot to prove a point.

"How much?" He could imagine the she-ork propositioning any of the madam's employees the night of their arrival, expecting some obscene markup for the ork tax (if it suited them or the madam), and then laughing and all but waving Damon's magic prick in their face. "Why pay that, when I can get the best cum for free?"

Naturally, there had to have been some haggling... and curiosity, somehow, won out. Abhilash had spent the last of their copper on a five-day stay in a room, and made a play of it for Damon's cooperation. She'd gotten him into bed, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he was to please her with his "stupid human tongue", and then give her what she wanted after.

...

"I was wondering if you were going to show up before I got tired of waiting." Abhilash growled as the door creaked open.

Damon rolled his eyes behind closed lids, keeping his mouth and tongue busy on the dripping slit threatening to rob him of any air if he didn't meet the she-ork's demands. Abhilash was, oddly, facing away from his hips -- but her intention was clear enough as "Ginga" had settled on him and his cock disappeared into a warm, barely ready sheath. Before he could register exactly why things felt wrong, she'd purred down at him.

"Look me in the eyes, Damon." she said, and it made his prick ache. "I want to see the lust in you."

He couldn't deny it. He knew that tangy, sweet plum and florid honey scent from across the room -- sometimes could still smell it in his sleep or while they were walking during the day. Mixed with the rising scent of Ginga, the heady elixir of their sex kept him hard until he collapsed with exhaustion every night. Her yellow eyes, staring down at him between the valley of her slowly swaying breasts -- nipples jutting angrily forward like little up-turned noses on haughty maidens -- he didn't smell what was wrong, and his eyes were stuck looking up through the silvery-blue haze of short, wispy hair growing on her mound. He was consumed by the lust in those eyes. The thudding of his heartbeat got louder, and he didn't quite hear what "Ginga" said.

"Is this gonna take much longer?"

"Cum inside her, Damon." Abhilash ignored "Ginga" and leered downward. "Spill your seed again and know that it will not be wasted."

He should have known, then. In hindsight, it had been an obvious ploy: Abhilash skirting the truth. Whether orks lied to each other, themselves, their enemies, or anyone else... Abhilash hadn't lied to him, yet. The duplicity should have been a warning. The eagerness in her voice had suffocated any hope of him learning the truth before it was too late, and his testicles did their work. His cock erupted, and "Ginga" screamed in surprise before the second shock-wave struck her dumb.

Abhilash's laughter was the first thing he noticed that warned him. Then she'd gotten off of him, and the truth was revealed. Astride his hips, stupidly grinning and giggling to herself, was a heavily painted -- and not so heavily tattooed -- woman of at least thirty to forty winters. Her breasts hung low on her chest, and her thicket of pubic hair was carefully cropped, oiled, and somehow still a wild mess of dark brown curls.

"Never... huh... uh, never came like that, before." she sighed dreamily and shivered, giggling once more. "You weren't lying."

"Abhi-" but the she-ork slapped a hand on his mouth and held his face with that vice-like paw.

"So, we have a deal?" The ork's eyes glinted cunningly.

"I'll talk to her." came the eager nodding, resulting in wobbly teats and quivering nethers on Damon's cock.

Damon groaned in complaint, though his hips pushed up and a little more seed oozed out. Watching her cum, even just a little bit, from those last drops squeezed from his prick, was grimly satisfying. He hadn't wanted to fuck her. But he didn't not want to fuck her, either.

...

"Fine." Damon agreed with a single nod of his head. "But shouldn't I be picking the customers?"

"Lover," Ginga kissed him, deeply... so thoroughly that he nearly forgot what they were talking about until she backed-off and they were both panting heavily. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"More customers and better mates will show up." Abhilash gave his shoulder a conciliatory pat. "Fire catches... the best draws the best to it -- and everything that cums wants the best cum it can get."

"Well, I guess that's true." Damon blushed, his red-brown skin almost crimson, but the web-scars on his face seemed to raise and wriggle at the same time. "Perhaps that is a good way to earn a bit of... wait, what's the madam's cut of the take?"

"Negotiable." Ginga pursed her lips, sucking her lower lip in. "Depending on how many customers you can satisfy in a day."

"That could be problematic." Damon frowned, his now-hard cock wondering what he could possibly mean by that.

"I'll see about a tincture." Ginga added hopefully. "Apothecary's always have something, even if half of it is goat piss and fish oil."

"I'll pass on the goat piss. And the oil." Damon stood up, his prick bouncing in the air and waving to each of the females in the room. "Give me a bit to... Fu-... it sounds ridiculous to say 'meditate' right now, but I need to think. I haven't tried anything to do with magic since we got here."

"It's only been four days, and that cock has paid for tonight's bargaining table." Abhilash reached down and caressed the anxious subject of their conversation, which greatly approved of her attention. "Fuck the madam, and then we can see about getting paid for fucking anyone with coin."

"No men." Damon blurted, suddenly remembering Tuwile and the rush of images the male ork's presence had caused.

"Suit yourself." Abhilash shrugged. "You can't sow whelps in males, anyway."

"Wait, no, that's not..." Damon paled, a hand going to his temple. "Tell me I didn't get her pregnant."

"No idea... maybe she's passed the age." Ginga shrugged. "I doubt she cares, right now... anyway, she's a whore -- they have balms and elixirs for that sort of thing."

"Poison?" Abhilash offered.

"I suppose. It's supposed to stop the seed from rooting, keep it from quickening in the womb." Ginga shrugged again. "I've taken moon tea, on occasion, but I'd never got pregnant before and... and anyway, that's not the point. You're the one always talking about an army -- shouldn't you want him to breed as many bellies as he can?"

Ginga blushed to hear herself, realizing only too late just how enthusiastic she sounded.

"We can warn them about..." she started before Abhilash cut her off with an abrupt wave and snort.

"No. They know what rutting means. They get whelps: that's their problem." Abhilash winked at Damon, her eyes full of wicked glee. "Doubt they'll worry much until they're already good and stuffed. Eh, Damon?"

He groaned, and not only because his cock was thrumming in agreement to the beat of his heart.

...

That day brought three revelations. The first revelation was accidental and led to the second, most terrifying revelation of the three, while the third was the dutiful consequence of his resignation to his chosen course. Had he not already agreed, he might have spent the remaining bells of the afternoon trying to derive a spell other than the one he'd told Ginga he would attempt.

"Seeing" magic had happened quite by accident. In his practice of mimicking Matta's "meditation" (often just referred to as "dozing-off" by the children, at the time) from as early as Damon could remember to the last time he watched Matta "call the rains", he happened upon a sound, posture, and pace of breathing that flooded his eyes with a watery rippling of the world -- even when his eyes were shut. It had begun with introspection, stilling himself and sitting on the floor.

...

The world slid away into the corners of his perception, dulling the noise of traffic outside. Merchants, carts, animals, barkers, and even the patrons just down the narrow hall laughing and yammering with the madam and her many employees. All became the diffuse burble of a river current rushing overhead as he sank into the stream of his own mind. A pulling sensation turned his thoughts further inward and he could feel the wet slosh and squish of his guts... the squeak of joints and hum of muscles as blood coursed violently through him with each heartbeat. At the center of it all, yet somehow nowhere near himself, were the stitched-together edges of a lens -- so he came to think of it -- that had been fixed there by a mad sorcerer. The lens -- maybe the piece of Matta's spirit that the Wizard had placed in him during the attack -- pulled him into a sluggish whirlpool. It swallowed him, he felt, to the waist and spun him about again and again.

Looking inward and spinning, he thought of it. That was how he could turn his attention to the tides of magical energy. Looking through the piece of himself that didn't belong. The piece that replaced a part of him that was missing. That was the second revelation.

He felt sick with that knowledge: that some part of him was gone forever and replaced by some foreign thing. How had it changed him? What had it cost? What had been taken? Was it a memory? A smell? He couldn't truly fathom how large a piece it was, only that it was at least large enough to "see" through. It had made him sweat and gasp for air, feeling his chest clench so tight that he couldn't breathe and he lost his focus after only a few moments, the world screaming back into existence around him.

The waves were gone, then, for some time as he fought to control his fear. He wanted to run. He wanted to escape. Curl up in a ball and cower away and wish it was all a dream. Such were the fantasies of children... Courage knew fear and acted anyway. Power gave fear too little or too much regard. Wisdom knew fear and learned from it. They were old lessons... trite-seeming in his more-youthful petulance... lessons learned at fireside or told between the clubbing blows on his shoulder, back, or the side of his head when he wouldn't listen. The difference between Folly and Courage, the difference between Strength and Weakness, Wisdom and Hubris... and the terrible lure of Power.

Some of these he now gave better heed as he realized that Matta was, in truth, losing what little mind he'd ever had (so long as Damon could remember of his score years). Lessons learned too late, perhaps, as Matta was now cold ashes and bone fragments with some misbegotten seed nesting in Damon's bosom. A revenant that could well be devouring him from within. A simulacrum of a birth unbidden, unwanted... unstoppable.

The only solution availed him: to seek answers or death from the dragon of the eclipse in the North. Cold comfort. Dead promises. Ashes of his friends, his mère and his grandmère... all carved into an arrow pointing him north into the unknowable. Should he choose to believe in the many gods, their saints, disciples, fakirs and priests... his was a matter of destiny. So was the fate of the man dying in battle, the bairn slain by plague, the mother on the birthing bed... Destiny was a word for one's death and any deeds others found notable. Akuji taught him about destiny.

"What is destiny, but the story we tell of someone who has done or has died?" Akuji grumbled over a plow, scouring the heavy blade with a file. "What fate do we have that is not told after we have done it, or not done it? Destiny is lazy, I say. Come... it's our destiny to plow this field and sow crop in it. There, that is destiny. And tomorrow? A goat will meet its destiny when we slaughter it for meat. Great deeds are no more destiny than small deeds."

He had never spoken with his father about destiny after that. There had been no need of it.

Now, the word pained him. The crudely shaped wedge within him, holding the broken pieces together... like the lines on his face that now he realized could be magical welds binding his flesh together... the terrible fear and not knowing that rushed ahead of all of it, screaming a meaningless word like "destiny".

So, he "destined" himself to not fall to fear. Acting in spite of the fear, to a destiny of sitting upright and steadying himself. Looking inward, spinning -- seeing magic through the lens. Matta's Lens, he would call it. That was its destiny, after all.

It was the destiny of Matta's Lens to show him the magic that would allow him to fornicate like a rutting buck. Dark humor curled his mouth in an angry smile, the left side of his face twisting among the black lines rising in his skin with a horrifying pattern no mortal saw -- for it was his destiny that he was alone, in a brothel just west of Renks Cairn on the north side of the river called The Serpent River on maps... and Destiny was just another whore in the employ of the madam of the bordello, Your Inn Fancy.

His fingers, throat and mouth hurt painfully by sunset, with burns and blisters rising here and there when the sounds or the movements had been wrong. He'd not dared to use the tooth. The dragon's tooth, graven with unreadable writing and mystic symbols, humming with vicious intelligence of its own and an inscrutable purpose that, if only when he was looking directly at it, defied his petty mortal condemnation of the notion of destiny. His intention had been careful. So careful as to focus on only a single aspect of sex -- and his own body -- at one time. Only to realize too late that any one thing must impact something else within him.

...

Now, at Sunset, Ginga had returned with a small clay jug of beer and a fresh loaf of bread. Wrapped in wax-cloth, she had a few slices of over-cooked pork and soft white goat cheese.

"Pinched this before a cattle-man threw it away." she blushed hurriedly, setting the offering on the bed at his shoulder. "You've taken your bandages off?"

"I think I did it." Damon looked at her hopefully, his face conflicted with trying to ease her concern and reveal his (hopeful) success.

"I can see... wait, you magicked yourself?" Her realization stole the notion of uncovered blisters on his fingers straight from the back of her mouth. "Can you... can you show me?"

"I don't know." His delight and hopefulness cracked. "Nobody told me how to... y'know... make a spell like this... or how to make it work once I did."

"You're in no shape to tug it out, either." She scowled at his hands, then slapped his shoulder with a playful and stern glaring of those blue-gray eyes. "Stand up and let's get your breeches down."

He nodded, standing. There was no sense in denying her or arguing some alternative. He plucked some of the bread and ate, gingerly trying to avoid the worst sores on his fingers to get the softest parts of the bread. Damon hadn't realized just how hungry he was, and his hands were struggling to cooperate. Ginga undid his belting and yanked his britches down with one tug.

"Doesn't look magicked, at least." She carefully moved the hardening flesh one way and then another as it rose to greet her. "And looks to still be game."

"That's a relief." He chuckled with genuine cheer, smiling down at her as Ginga glanced up at him.

The dark red-brown hue of his cock was brighter or lighter than the darker tone of Ginga's skin, and he marveled to see her lustily grasping him and casting glances between the eyes in his face and the one at the end of his prick.

"So... how did you see this going?" She asked. "Want to get one off and hope we can do it again right away, or...?"

He'd thought about cumming as quickly as possible from the touch of her hand, about what it would feel like to have her stroking him or sucking him into her mouth.

His balls tingled angrily, without warning, and his seed shot forth.

"Fuck!" Ginga swore, coughing and hacking as he spurt more seed at her. Some had hit the back of her throat, striking a sudden powder keg in her crotch. More struck the side of her face before she aimed him away to gush harmlessly to the floor.

"Sorry?" Damon didn't know what else to say. She hadn't even been stroking him. He didn't feel tired -- a little soft in the knees, but not even winded -- and his body felt fantastic at the rush of climax.

His prick thudded proudly in Ginga's grip, his pulse still strong and his arousal unabated. She coughed twice more, swallowed and then cleared her throat to spit.

"Just caught me by surprise." She shook her head, gasping, panting, flushed from cool to unbearably hot in a rush. "And you? How do you feel?"

Before he could say "I feel like I could cum again," his testicles hugged up tight to his pelvis and released another brief deluge. His dick, still aimed away from Ginga's face, spurted and drooled more seed.

"I was just..." He thought about it too long, it seemed, and came a third time. "Fuck's sake!"

He nuts hurt, and his legs were starting to feel wobbly. Just below his bladder, a clenching muscle felt painfully sprained.

"I overdid it." He gasped, sagging backward onto the bed. "Spirits and saints defend us... I gotta cork this and make the muscles..."

He groaned, the exhausted muscles spasmed and twitched -- at the brink of tearing or failing -- and more semen drooled forth.

"Yeah, I'll say." Ginga eyed his drooling cock with sudden greed, then leaned forward and sucked him into her mouth.

He came twice more before she would let go, and his abused testicles cried and his overtaxed muscles -- one poor bastard called the urinary sphincter, in collegiate circles -- had all but given-up the ghost and refused to cooperate further. While Ginga luxuriated in multiple orgasms so close together and settled into a stupor beside the bed, curling in on herself to hum and giggle drunkenly, Damon was wracking his brains for a way to make a mechanism to prevent these continuous, inelegant, and now painful ejaculations. Some manner of activation that would not happen by accident. Further, something to invigorate him such that multiple orgasms would not cripple him so.

Abhilash nearly burst into the room, eyes wide and face a snarl of dangerous intent, sword leading her into the room.

"Damon...?" her purple-flush of anger slid backward down her face, confusion and slow realization dawning. "You did it?"

"He did. Too well." Ginga murmured from the floor. "Or not... but he did it."

"Go away." Damon groaned pitifully, cradling his aching crotch, and eyes streaming tears. "I need... I need to fix this, somehow... owww..."

...

"Get up." She drawled, grabbing Damon's shoulder and tugging him nearly from the bed and shaking him awake in a startle.

"Fuckin' hell, woman... uh, Abhi." Damon groaned and grimaced, her stink of sweat and sour booze crinkling his nose. "You reek of it."

"You in't holdin' it..." Her yellow eyes searched him over from beneath heavy lids, sluggish and not easily focused. "You good? You can rut, now?"

"I'm tired, Abhi. I need some sleep." Damon shook himself loose of her clumsy grip and laid back into the blankets where Ginga moaned and swept an arm over him. "I think I got it, but lemme sleep first."

"Feh, bar that!" Abhilash spat and tugged him neatly from the bed like a doll. "You got a date wit da madam."

He hadn't time to work on the other consequence of enchanting himself -- the ready trigger of his orgasm by thinking about it -- and quickly found the front of his pants wet with sticky fluids as he spent himself twice just overthinking during the she-ork's dragging him before the madam of the brothel.

...

"He's nothing special to look at." The madam, called Mistress by those earning her coin and Madam Cosima by those paying that coin, was a woman of considerable years.