Sex Wizards - Mastery Ch. 04

When I wake the next day, I watch the sky brighten to a dreary grey that threatens snow outside of Arlon's big glass window. He didn't give me permission to leave this morning, and I have very little desire to anyway. Other than a quick venture out to re-stoke the fire, I stay firmly planted under my pile of blankets at the foot of his bed.

Winter in the Hobokins usually meant I holed up in my cabin, only going out into the cold when I had to. I'd live off my stores, and I'd sleep more often than not. My own kind of hibernation. I give in to that familiar urge and doze for the better part of an hour before I hear Arlon start to stir.

"Are you awake, Dominai?"

I yawn and try to shake off the winter pall. "Yes, sir."

He groans, and it sort of sounds like he wished I hadn't answered. I hear him shift before he says, "Then get dressed. Be sure to dress warm."

I do as asked, and Arlon gives me permission to go to my room to grab my winter cloak. I don my thick socks as well, brush my teeth and hair, before meeting him in the mess hall. We eat a quick breakfast of hot oats and dried fruit, but no matter how many times I catch his eye, he doesn't give a hint as to what we're up to today. At least he lets me sit at the table and use a spoon today.

We're heading back towards his office when he holds out a hand. "Give me your spell necklace," he says. "Charged focuses can act a little strange where we're going."

I look at him in surprise, but I do as asked and pull it from around my neck. I only have two rows, neither full, and the wire-reinforced strands are stiff when Arlon takes them. When we reach his office, he unlocks a drawer on his desk that I only now notice is reinforced with abjuration. He stores my necklace next to his own before locking and sealing the drawer once more.

"Follow me," Arlon says. He seems a little excited. With how bundled we are, I expected to be heading outside, but instead, Arlon goes to the far wall of his office. His hands brush over one of the stones, and I see the glow of a focus sealed right into the mortar before the wall drops away.

I gape at the narrow little staircase that descends down and out of sight. Arlon grabs one of the glowing orbs from its alcove in the wall. He smiles at me over his shoulder before he starts down. I follow him, feeling the rush of chilled air from below.

The staircase descends down in a tight spiral, but the further we go, the colder it gets. I shiver and pull my cloak a little closer around me, tailing close enough to stay in the light of Arlon's orb. The stairs seem to go forever, but after a long minute, they come to an end and spill out into an open clearing. I gasp, my breath misting in front of me in the cold, humid air.

"Welcome to the heart of the Crux," Arlon says. He keeps his voice low, but it echoes all the same, bouncing off the cavern around us. Arlon's light catches the pillars of shimmering magiline that jut from the ground. They erupt like frozen geysers from the veins of white that cut through the stone under our feet. Some of the pillars are thick as tree trunks, but the largest by far, I realize, is the base of the main tower of the Crux.

It doesn't matter that Arlon has ordered me to silence - I can't find the words anyway. Arlon runs a hand over one of the white pillars, and it comes alive under his touch, shimmering with a ghostly white glow. "This cave is where every focus you have ever used came from," Arlon says. "Every spell we store and release is made possible by the magiline we've harvested from this place."

The pillar he touched starts to hum gently, like a tuning fork being struck. The sound of it seems to wake up the others, and soon, the whole cavern is bathed in a soft white light. It ripples gently, like light shining through water.

"And right now, we are low on our stores," Arlon says. I blink and realize he's holding out a chisel and hammer. I take them and bow, my head spinning.

Arlon grins. "Ask your questions."

I hardly know where to start. "How old is this place?"

"The Crux as we know it has been an institution for about three hundred years," he says. "But the magiline tower and this deposit existed long before that. Before it was altered, the main tower was a sacred site of the Lightbringer."

"I'm sure that caused a bit of a stir when folks realized it could store magic," I mutter.

Arlon chuckles at that. "Wars were fought over it. Even today, there's still a not insubstantial part of the population that thinks wizards are vulgar heretics for desecrating the site. It doesn't help that it took another three decades for the clerics of the Lightbringer to confirm the stance that magic is a gift sent from the divine. Even after they did, they didn't want their goddess of light and life associated with things like sex and magic, so the site was reassociated to the goddess Coition."

"Coition?" I repeat.

"The patron goddess of sex, pleasure, and as of about three hundred years ago, magic, which certainly upped her standing in the greater pantheon," Arlon says with a grin. "Coming from a conservative village like Airedale, I'm not surprised you haven't heard of her."

"We only had shrines to the Lightbringer and Quietus," I admit.

"Then you have a whole pantheon of lesser gods and goddesses to explore, but at least you had the main two," Arlon chuckles. "Once the dust settled, use of the main tower's resources was granted to a wizard named Eroland Lockheart with the blessing of the regent of Straetham and the grudging approval of the clerics of the Lightbringer. Once Eroland showed how useful magic could be when it was able to be stored and focused, the site was entrusted fully to him, along with the title of Grandmaster."

"What did wizards do before then?" I wonder.

"Very little, though there are notable records of a few battlefield encounters that turned the tide of a fight," Arlon says. "Needless to say, direct casting in a situation like that wasn't comfortable or safe for any involved."

I can't stop a small laugh at the thought of fucking in the middle of a battlefield. "Thank the gods for magiline."

"Indeed," Arlon chuckles. "Once Eroland was given full authority, he laid the foundations for what would become the Crux. Over the course of a century, the main tower was hollowed out and reinforced with stone and mortar to make it the structure we use today. He never did see the culmination of his work, but I think Eroland would be proud of what the Crux has become."

I look at the massive base of the tower with new appreciation. Arlon leads me through the maze of magiline to an area that looks far less untouched. A couple of the large pillars have been toppled, though what remains of them still shift with light in time with the others. I look at the chisel and hammer in my hand and ask, "Do you mine all material for the focuses yourself?"

"Keeping an inventory of focuses is a duty of the grandmaster of the Crux, though it's not required that we quarry it ourselves. Faunette certainly never did, but I enjoy the work," he says with a shrug. "I keep track of how many are made, how many are used and any that are lost. Since you currently only have a divination mastery, you haven't had to report on the spells you've cast, because you don't take a focus with you once the spell is complete."

I've seen the little spell sheets that Olbric and Galiva and Cancassi fill out, but they haven't made me do it yet. "Fucking hell, that sounds like a lot of work," I say but quickly amend, "Sir."

"Once you get a handle on the numbers, it's not so bad," he says. "Though I'll admit, I'm still reconciling how many are missing after all of chaos with Diran and his ilk. No matter which way I look at the numbers, we're missing between 40 and 70, which is far too many. Not to mention, whatever amount they managed to steal from the mine." Anger colors his voice, and I can't blame him.

"I gather that magiline is valuable," I say.

"Very," Arlon says. "Even those without magic covet it as a status symbol instead of recognizing it as the very useful and finite resource that it is. You wouldn't believe how many nobles I get knocking on my door petitioning for some magiline bauble or trophy. They still haven't learned that I won't grant it."

I look around the vast cave and see that only one small section of it has been carved away. "At least we're sitting on a good store of it," I say, and I'm unable to stop a bit of awe from leaking into my voice.

"And we have another at the mine in the Hobokins," Arlon says. "Though from what our canvassers have discovered, it's a small deposit. We'll drain it and store what we find here before we reopen the mine. We'll have to monitor the site in case more is found as they excavate further."

I watch as he takes his own hammer and chisel and crouches over the fallen pillar. He wedges his chisel at a junction in the shining white stone. He taps it, once, twice, three times before there's a soft schnick. A crack appears, and he carefully scoots the chisel down and does it again, tapping until a long, even piece breaks off. It's only then I realize that the magiline naturally forms in pieces the shape of a honeycomb. Arlon sets the yard-long piece aside and says, "We'll take that back upstairs where we can cut and polish it. But we need four more pieces just like that before we do, so get to work."

"Yes sir," I say and move to the pillar next to him. It takes my unpracticed hands far longer to separate one of the long pieces, but it's satisfying when it does come off. The honeycomb piece really isn't that much wider than a focus, and I realize that Arlon must just polish the edges off before hollowing out the center for the rings. He probably even uses that center piece to make the marbles.

Arlon separates three more pieces in the time it takes me to do one. When we have five rods total, Arlon bundles them together with some twine from his pocket and hands me the stack. "Don't drop them," he says. "They're rather fragile before they're trimmed down."

They're no light parcel, but I carry them over my shoulder, trying my best not to smack them against the winding stair as we head back up. I still do a couple of times, but they're light taps and don't seem to harm the magiline any.

I'm breathing hard by the time we make it back into Arlon's office. He seals the entryway behind him and says, "Though it's not exactly a secret, I don't share the entrance to the cavern with everyone. I would ask you to keep it quiet, even after this week is over."

"Yes sir, of course." I have a feeling that a lot of what I overhear this week will be confidential, and I don't intend to betray that trust.

Arlon leads me to the anterior courtyard. I've passed by it many times, but I rarely have need to go into it, save to visit Mo. It's bigger than the main yard, though far less accommodating. It's where most of the Crux's non-magical work happens. There are a number of outer buildings - the laundry, the kitchens, the stables and the like, but Arlon leads me to a small workshop set against the outer wall. The door unlocks as he touches it, and I feel strong abjuration surrounding the building.

Inside, the floor is littered with magiline powder that sparkles like freshly fallen snow. It looks like a carpentry. There's a long work table and various saws, measuring sticks and chisels hang on the wall. Arlon wastes no time showing me what to do, and he explains everything he does as he does it.

First, he takes one of the magiline rods and cuts it into three more or less even pieces with a sturdy saw. He settles one of the pieces in between two padded clamps before cranking the clamp closed. "Not too tight or you'll crack it," he warns.

Next, he takes a coring saw and sets it carefully at the center of the rod before he starts to drill in. It's a slow process, and even in the chilly workshop, Arlon starts to sweat. When the rod is cored, he hands it to me. "That's a two inch core," he says. "We want to make spheres, so use that measuring stick to mark two inch increments all the way down."

I do as I'm told and measure carefully before marking the magiline core with a charcoal pencil. Once I'm finished, Arlon checks my work before nodding and telling me to saw through the lines I've made. By the time I'm through, I've got six two inch pieces, and I've also worked up a sweat. He has me do the same to the cored piece, though he has me cut it in half inch increments for rings.

Arlon shows me the lathe he uses to finish shaping them, but he takes that duty himself. I'm glad for it - the foot pedal that makes the thing spin gets going quick, and the sharp tools he sets against it grind so loud it makes my teeth ache. While he widens the hole on the rings and shapes the spheres, he puts me on coring and cutting duty, which is only a little less noisy.

But by mid afternoon, I'm through coring and cutting all of the pieces, though my hands are blistered and aching. If Arlon usually does all of this himself, it's no wonder his hands are so calloused. He's only slightly behind me on the lathe, and if I thought I was done, he points to the pile of shaped marbles and rings before saying, "Polish those."

I barely stop a groan. We're well past lunch and edging closer to dinner, and I don't think he's going to let us eat until we're finished. I get to work, but fortunately there's a second lathe I can use. I spin each ring and marble individually, using a cloth and a handful of sand to buff away any roughness before I hit it with an oiled cloth. When all is said and done, I have a perfect focus in my hands, shining and ready for use.

We do that hundreds more times, and when the sun goes down and snow starts to flurry, Arlon lights a fire for us to keep going. It's well past dinner and hunger gnaws at my stomach, but finally, finally, I finish polishing the last one. Each rod nets us just shy of 100 focuses, giving us a total of nearly 500 in all. Arlon scoops every last one into a sack that he tosses over his shoulder before clapping me on mine.

"Good work, Dominai."

"Thank you, sir," I say just before my stomach lets out a loud grumble.

Arlon chuckles and says, "I warned the cooks we would be working late. They will have left food in my office. Let's go eat."

#

After I'm fed, I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, but Arlon insists we go down to the baths. Coated in magiline dust and sweat, I can't even complain. I don't know what time it is, but it feels late - far later than I normally stay up. The fact that the baths are empty when we reach them only confirms my suspicions.

Arlon chooses the pool in the back, and I follow his lead. Magiline dust falls from my clothes as I strip them off. Arlon's are even more coated, and the shining powder sticks to his skin as he pulls his shirt off.

I sink into the pool with a groan, only to hiss when my blistered hands touch the hot water.

"Let me see," Arlon says as he slides in beside me.

I hold my hands out to him, and he tsks. He washes them gently, and I see a sparkling cloud of magiline dust float off of us, turning the water silver. "Finish bathing, and I'll tend to them in my room."

"Thank you, sir."

He doesn't order me to anything, but I grab a washcloth and start to bathe the dust off him. He looks a little surprised, but not displeased as he lets me do as I like. It's a bit of a shock to realize that this is the first time I've seen Arlon fully naked.

Even though I'd guess he's about twice my age - mid to late 40s, he's nice to look at. Sturdily built, broad and well muscled, though maybe not as much as he used to be. He's got dark hair on his arms and chest, though just like up top, parts of it are starting to turn grey along with a few streaks through his charcoal beard. It's obvious that he's non-bloodline, and I can't help but wonder if that's why he stays covered most of the time.

I take my time. When I move on to wash his salt and pepper hair, I'm rewarded with a little sigh of pleasure. Once he rinses the soap out, I move on to the rest of him, mapping the old scars that mar his swarthy skin. As I trace a particularly impressive one across his chest, I can't help but wonder, not for the first time, what a man like Arlon did before he came to the Crux.

Apparently he's not one to remain idle either, and after a few minutes of enjoying my attentions, he starts to wash the magiline dust off of me. I'm almost dozing by the time he finishes, but then he pulls me onto his lap. As tired as I am, my cock twitches inside of the cage. It's been a long, busy day, and he's barely even touched me, but now, his rough hands send a thrill up my spine.

"Did you enjoy today?" Arlon asks as his fingers brush gentle circles over my hip bones.

"Yes, sir." It almost felt like choring in the Hobokins. A long day of work that was only finished when it got done.

"We managed to do nearly twice what I can manage on my own," he says. "Your help was appreciated." His fingers stroke down my thighs before he toys with the cage around my cock. It sends a jolt through me, and as tired as I am, I shiver. "I think you deserve a reward."

I can't quite muffle a little sound of need. "Thank you, sir." The cage won't come off - that much I know, but I shudder as I feel his cock stir underneath me. His finger hooks around the ring on my collar, and he stands, pulling me with him. He pushes me over the lip of the pool, resting my knees on the stone seat. It's just enough that my ass is out of the water, my cage brushing the magiline wall of the pool. I shiver as my hands rest against the cold, wet stone, but then his slicked length prods at my hole.

He fucks me right there, his fingers hooked around my collar as he takes me from behind. He doesn't prepare me, and the stretch of his cock is borders on painful as he thrusts deep. I force myself to relax moaning as his cock drags across that sweet spot inside of me. It's a thrill to be used, a thrill to know that I can take him now, whenever and however he wants me. And tonight, he wants me rough.

His hips snap against mine, but the grip on my collar keeps me upright, constricting just enough that I start to feel light-headed. My cries echo around the empty bath even as Arlon speeds up, reaching deep as he spears me over and over. The cage around my cock rattles with each hard thrust, a thin stream of liquid oozing from my tip and into the pool.

In spite of my cock being locked away, I feel something building. The drag of Arlon's length over that sweet spot inside of me wrings a low, rattling moan out of me. Pleasure builds behind my balls and at the base of my trapped cock. It's unlike anything I've ever felt before, but with every deep thrust, the pleasure mounts before reaching a tipping point.

A very different kind of orgasm rocks through me, but I know it for one all the same. Nothing else could feel so good. I shudder with release, a long quavering moan escaping me even as Arlon speeds up. Every thrust sustains it, stokes it until my mind is blank of everything else but the pleasure that seems to radiate through my whole body.

My flaccid cock dribbles cum through the bars of the cage, my exhausted body shaking as pleasure saps what little strength I have left. My arms fail to hold me up, and I collapse, laying flat against the ground and see the magiline shimmer where I touch it. Then Arlon grips my shoulders and thrusts deep as he swells inside of me. I cry out as he fills me, adding one more sensation on top of everything else. I'm staggered by it, my vision swimming as I try to make sense of what just happened. Under my cheek, the magiline lip of the pool sparks and ripples with color.

Behind me, Arlon breathes hard, his head resting against my back. For a long moment, neither of us move. Then I feel him press a kiss against the small of my back before he pulls out of my sore and used hole. "Fucking hell, Dom," he says. He gathers me up in his arms and pulls me back into the pool and onto his lap. "Have you ever had an internal orgasm before?"