Mavis and the Featherlight Ch. 03

Quite softly, she began to mutter the same formulas that, months ago, she'd used to open that first, special lock from rose -- her fingers tracing out their spellwork forms in the air around the ball of ice. She'd opened others with it, too, though she could open those ones by hand now. It was a spell that had always ensured Mavis didn't need to lose -- and so one that she had been trying for a while to train herself out of eventually resorting to, lest she miss simpler or more practical solutions. It was, in essence, her little lockpicking cheat code; A quite ingenious use of ice magic, the type she'd long held as the only practical one to use for this. The blue half of the spell would likely work, though far less stably, with water -- but with fire, electricity, even earth... Not a chance.

Vindictively, now, the elf smiled down at the belt - realising that, for whatever reason, it had stopped stroking her. Not that it would have mattered. At least for the moment, she was almost numb all over, her eyes glowing brightly as her hands began to shake. She realised quite suddenly she couldn't keep this up much longer, but she didn't quite know why. Ice magic wasn't good for the body, and she was out of practice, but her energy pool... For elves, it was much larger than a human's. Larger than Rose's, too. Why was she already starting to feel overstressed?

Something was wrong. It was as if something was taking some of it from her. She shook her head. No matter. Soon, the belt would be defeated. Soon, she would win. For no lock, even ones with a similar pin grid to this, had withstood her ice spell. She watched the ice ball contort, slipping into the lock as her legs opened, as her smile widened. It slid in, further. More and more of it. Then... All of it.

That... Wasn't what usually happened. Usually, the entire ball was too big, the elf's size control quite poor, and so most of it would sit outside while only a small amount drove the lock's mechanisms around. She knew for a fact that the interior of the lock was far too small to fit all of it inside, and yet...

She blinked. She couldn't 'feel' the conjured ice any more. It was like it had...

Had it gone? She stared down at the lock, pushing at it with her fingers and find it completely dry. Her mind probed, trying to withdraw the ice, but that locus -- her conjured element -- was gone. What on earth had just...

...Had it-

Suddenly, she was bent over the table, a tiny little half-yelp escaping her lips. Between her legs, the belt had restarted. Two tiny, rotating brushes suddenly and viciously attacked her clit, and the underside of the restrained hood behind it. Quickly, as her body rapidly heated up, more pushed between her folds. "MmmMMMMM!" She moaned, her legs turning to jelly as she fell, catching herself on the counter as she instinctively tried to land in a stool that was no longer there, before letting herself fall into a kneel on the floor. Quickly, however, her knees extended on their own, lifting the moaning elf into the air as the unbearable attack continued, as though her body was trying to flinch away from the brushes -- only to find that they followed it quite perfectly. "H-Haaaa! Ahhm!" She gasped, strands of saliva connecting her lips as her mouth opened to gasp for air, then, feeling herself crest the wave once more.

Again, she tried desperately to concentrate. To start over. But not only was the belt quickly building her, driving her very, very close, very, very quickly; it felt like her mana reserves were, somehow, completely empty. Her fists beat against the floor as she squeezed herself into a tormented, dripping little ball, the elf's mouth still only able to produce the same mixture of light gasps and fluttering moans it had before. What had happened? What had it done?

It had countered her. Somehow, some way, it had...

It didn't matter. It didn't matter! Nothing mattered... She gritted her teeth, moaning into her fists as her legs kicked at the floor. Soon, she was writhing, and for good reason -- the belt was going crazy. It was attacking so quickly, so roughly, the ticking that had been quiet and steady before growing louder and faster even as her body slowly reached the peak of what it could take. She flinched and kicked, beginning to drool as she realised it was impossible that it would stop her this time. It was taking her beyond the point of no return, the brushes flicking and stroking at her passage faster and faster by the second.

She was going to cum. She was absolutely sure. Just another... Just one more second, and... Oh, it had started-

Suddenly, the elf jumped, shrieking so loudly that it must have been audible outside the house. She flew to her feet, panting and sweating, swearing through gritted teeth as she realised that her head had only narrowly missed the desk above her. It took her a moment to fully understand what had just happened.

There had been no torturous few seconds where the brushes gently tailed off. It had built her too fast for that, and she'd known, delightedly craving the coming orgasm that no amount of gentleness, not even stopping, would have quelled. It was then that she'd felt it -- a freezing, ice-cold cold nub, but for its present temperature not unlike the ones that had tormented her insides yesterday. Her clit had throbbed hard as it touched her, and not with pleasure. With shock, and not a small amount of discomfort. The touch lasted only a few moments, not nearly long enough for her body to get used to the cold, but clearly enough to painfully extinguish her peaking arousal. With it, all of the metal of the belt, too, had gone cold -- the effects of the elf's body heat over the last day of wear dissipating in an instant as her hands pushed and pounded at it.

Mavis couldn't help but suck air through her teeth as she began to shiver. Angry tears ran down her face, her legs stomping at the floorboards with frustration as she tried and failed to control her arousal with thought alone, writhing gently against the slippery floor. Why wasn't the belt doing the same thing as yesterday?! Why did it have to do this, now?! Had it... Oh, no. No...!

It had absorbed the ice element she'd generated. All of it. All of that energy she'd expended, too, plus more that she'd tried to, and that the belt had been too quick to absorb. That ice, that she had tried to use on this awful chastity belt... Now, it was going to be used on her.

With a choked gasp, she realised what that meant.

The belt chose to work her slowly this time -- as if the first time had just been a demonstration, a short version of the long, cruel tease it was about to do. And indeed, it had been much shorter -- for the full version would make use of the ice multiple times, and last for the rest of the day.

It began as her hands strained at the cold steel, the elf gasping with exertion as she tugged and shook at the belt. Gently, then, and oh so lightly, the brushes touched and pricked at her clit. Now, however, there was something more aggressive about them. More vindictive. And, somehow, far more infuriating.

Mavis shut her eyes, tight, but the magic she'd used had now doubled the sensitivity of her soft flesh to the brushes. For a while, she wondered if the belt hadn't noticed, but as soon became clear, it certainly had.

Enough of this! Enough! She just needed to, just... She moved over to the windowsill, mounting it, trying not to fuck it like she had the sofa the previous day -- even as her sex began to throb under the belt's careful ministrations. She didn't care about anyone seeing her like this from the garden any more, and the warmth of the sun was a cold comfort as she looked down at the phone. Somehow, she had to get in touch with Rose. Somehow, some way...

She picked it up, slowly dialling the number as she took several steady breaths.

"Cloudwell Inn, Penny speaking! Can I take the name?"

"I-It's me again, Penny." Mavis gasped. "It's Mavis..."

The voice soured. "Sweetheart, for the last bleeding time-"

"Please!" Mavis interrupted, her voice quite desperate. "J-Just, let me speak to my Rose... It's important, s-so please-"

"Mrs. Mavis, if you don't cease and desist harassing this establishment with your indecency, we shall have to block your phone number. I've told you not to bother your poor wife."

"T-Then just tell me how I get this thing off!" Mavis begged. "Please, it's so intense... I don't know how to make it stop!"

"I've had just about enough of you!" The voice snapped at her. "The church's belts aren't something that you can just get off, you know. And as for the setting being too intense -- there's no such thing. Your wife has the divine right to manage your chastity however she likes. As the one who brought you into the church, it's her responsibility to punish and train away all of this unreasonable, sinful behavior of yours. You, at the same time, ought to be using this opportunity to reflect and pray, rather than bothering her at a time like this. Honestly, she's stressed up to the eyeballs. She told me she was sure she hadn't passed. Do you really think I'm going to send a message up to her room, just a few minutes after she walked in, asking her to talk to you?! I'd be surprised if I didn't get a complaint."

"Please...! Look - I'm not supposed to be in this thing, i-it's a mistake-"

"You're lying to me now? Right, that's absolutely it, I'm blocking your number."

"W-Wait!" Mavis half screamed. "I'm s-sorry! I'm sorry, please don't!"

"From the moment we started talking, you've been dishonest with me, Mrs. Mavis! You tried to hide that you were being punished, and now you're trying to tell me that somehow, you're wearing a Featherlight by accident? Do you think I was born yesterday?!"

"I'm trying to tell you the truth! P... Please...!"

"Then tell me the truth, Mrs. Mavis. Be honest with me, right now, or I'll make sure you and your wife don't get to talk until she arrives home. As she likely intended."

Mavis's eyes closed, her face reddening, as she realised that this angel would never accept the truth. Softly, she began to speak, barely able to bear the implications of what she was saying. "F-Fine, I... I was, a bad girl," She lied, her eyes welling with tears. "And... She's punishing me..."

"For?"

"F-For..." Mavis shut her eyes tight. "G-Going through her things... Reading her books... Messing with her, l-locks, and belts..."

"Disgraceful." The voice said. "Listen to you. What a little kleptomaniac you must be. Have you been punished for this before?"

Mavis didn't have to lie this time. "Um, y-yes..."

"And you did it again anyway? Why!?"

"Because, s-she wouldn't be honest with me...! She wouldn't tell me anything!"

"What gives you the right to know every little thing about her?" Penny hissed. "Is it not enough that she not only dotes on you, but speaks fondly about you to her friends loud enough that I can hear from this desk? Do you know what happens to her if she breaks her oaths of secrecy? Do you know what happens to her career? To her qualifications?! You must-"

"NO!" Mavis screamed, finally losing her temper. "No, I don't! I don't know anything about anything, and I'm sick of it!" She burst into tears, her legs kicking at the wall. "I can't... take... this!"

It was a moment before the voice spoke again. "I'm sympathetic, dear." Penny said, as the elf gasped and cried, bending forward as the cruel belt continued to torment her body. "Really, I am. But it sounds quite justified, and there's really no way a Featherlight will come off without the key. They're well tested. Chartered belts all are. That said, I can... Put in, a good word for you, if you want. Tell her that you've... Learned your lesson. That you deserve some comfort, some peace. It's a very intense punishment -- a needed learning experience, perhaps -- but, still, you'll have to wait. Wait, and bear it." She sighed. "It must be so hard..."

"Can't you... H-ha, get her?" Mavis pleaded. "Please?"

"I don't want to make her any more stressed that she is right now, dear. But dinner for all of them is soon. I'll ask her to give you a call then, okay?"

Mavis's eyes closed. "Okay," She said, quietly.

"Bye now."

Slowly, and with shaking hands, Mavis laid the phone back into its cradle. Eventually, slowly becoming used to the onslaught of the brushes, she managed to get up. Still quite desperate, the elf made her way gingerly into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Unable to think of anything else she could try for now, she began with shaking hands to prepare a meal that she knew she didn't want. As she waited for the toaster, however, her control over her breathing began to slip again. She snarled at the belt, incensed and, at the same time, fearful of what it would do next.

The routine didn't seem to change, but Mavis's reaction to it did. Because the gentle pokes and pricks of the brushes; that touching and twisting, those sharp, feather-light kisses at her twitching, throbbing sex... Didn't stop. They remained constant, quite unending. After ten minutes of it, Mavis's heels were tapping at the ground, her legs restless as she poured hot water into a mug, staring confusedly at it before she realised she hadn't added a teabag. As she sat slowly eating, twenty minutes after she had first entered the room, she felt her sex -- and, soon after, the metal around it -- begin to drip moisture down her shivering thighs again. Between trying to eat, she cringed and gasped, wondering how much worse it might get. Thirty minutes, and she had her answer, her feet kicking at the floor as her whitening fingers pried and wrenched at the friend shield, hopelessly trying to separate it from her body as the brushes continued to poke and twirl, swirl and twitch against the elf's throbby, achy little snatch. Still quick, light touches -- never longer than a quarter of a second, and yet... It was quite unbearable now. But as the elf began to beat her fists against the belt and table, her legs pushing her to her feet as she pried desperately at the hard waistband, tilting it, shaking it, kneading and wrenching at it... She was only half way through the journey the belt had laid out for her.

Forty minutes, and she had tried to slip almost every piece of cutlery in the kitchen that was dull enough to do so beneath the rapidly dripping front shield. Every butter knife, every fork, every handle of every spoon. Both pairs of scissors -- which Rose had started storing alongside their cutlery, much to Mavis's annoyance. Her letter opener, now, was in the midst of the latest attempt. She angled it, shoving and pushing with all her might as she tilted the thing left and right, trying alternately to pry the front shield up, and lever the tool further in. Thanks to the belt's metal leaves, though -- those same leaves she'd seen before -- nothing would slide under it. Every tool was being redirected into tight pits, caught between tight metal sheets until, grunting angrily, the elf pulled it free. Infuriated, she eventually withdrew the letter opener, and with it a string of moisture that she angrily wiped away. Somehow, while doing so, she'd managed to force down the last of the tea and toast. But what little appetite she'd had was now completely gone. As, soon, was her ability to form any kind of coherent thought.

The elf became quite wild after the fifty minute mark passed. Panting and gasping, she tried to ignore the sound of the table creaking under the weight of her knee; Despite knowing that it was useless, and apart from that, obscene, Mavis couldn't help but keep fucking the edge. The horrible brushes were tormenting her again, flicking and prodding and pricking and touching at her desperately quivering, twitching clit; teasing softly at its tip, its base, its every edge. Still, even now, quick, careful little touches. But now, she was so, so close. So close. She just needed, just a little more! If just one of the brushes, any one, would just linger just a little longer, that might... She might... "Mmmh!" She sobbed, her shaking arm gripping the wobbling chair as, finally, her stamina ran out and she fell back onto it. She pawed at the belt desperately, her hands squeaking up and down. Pressing harder and moving faster as she tried desperately to feel something, anything more than the relentless, torturous touches. The pattern had finally changed, now, but only subtly -- only two additional brushes. One poking and tickling at that one spot, deep inside her, that the belt had found earlier -- the one that now drove her absolutely insane when it was touched in any way -- and one just. Ever so gently, tracing. And caressing, at her lips... Around and around, and then. Up. And down... Mavis didn't know which was the worst. She didn't care to reason. The torture went on and on, until her whole body itched and ached with frustration.

By sixty minutes, the elf could only slump against the table. Her chest heaved as she drew one long, shuddering breath after another. By seventy, she was gently, quietly pleading in a voice that only grew higher, more forlorn, anguished and desperate, to be allowed to cum. Her feet beat at the floor, her body only able to endure and endure as, still, the brushes pricked and caressed at her body, holding her still, even now, just... Just shy. Only just. With perfect, mechanical precision, careful, measured little stroke after stroke, touch after touch. Silent, glacial caresses, slow and feather soft -- slight touch, after touch, after touch... Somehow, the belt knew not only how much stimulation would be too much, but exactly how much was enough. And through that knowledge, it ensured that no matter how the elf craned her body around, she could get no further or closer. Every touch of the clockwork arms and brushes and nubs was perfectly considered, intricately balanced, and mechanically measured. She would have marvelled at it, were it not so utterly maddening -- swooned masochistically at the idea of such treatment, were it not her it was happening to, and quite against her will. Again, the elf began to struggle wildly against the waistband wound tightly around her body, quietly pleading and begging for release as her juices, no longer a drip but now a thin, constant stream, dribbled down the legs of the chair; and yet the belt was adamant in both its cruelty, and the tyrannical snugness of its grip on her pelvis. This state was the one in which the elf was to be kept, now -- confined, held against her will, no matter how desperately she tried to escape.

Eighty minutes, and she was again pawing at the shield, her whitening knuckles driving it hopelessly up and down. Still, the brushes masterfully held her on edge, barely affected at all by the jolting as she began to bounce up and down in her seat. Ninety minutes and, her toes clenched, Mavis couldn't take it any more. She moaned and whimpered into her arms, writhing against her seat, her hands rubbing themselves raw against the shield. She was so much closer with every passing minute, and yet, still so, so far.

She had had no idea that the moment right before orgasm could be drawn out for so long, so viscerally. Her hands had on their own balled into fists, hitting the waistband hopelessly as the sensations drove her back up and down the chair, the elf humping the air now. She could barely hold back her voice, her moans filling the room as her entire sex screamed desperately with sensation, dulling her every other sense.

She was so, so close. But at ninety minutes... At a hundred minutes, she was almost... So, very nearly...