The Magic of Life
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, Ma/ft, Consensual, Magic, Fiction, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation,
Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 1 - That life is magical is well known. That life is the SOURCE of magic, less so, and those who practice the dark and light arts hold their secrets dear. Apprentice witch Wendy wanted entry to that world. Wanted… power. Magic. May the Goddess forgive her…
Wendy trembled as the door slowly creaked open before her.
This was a tradition. She knew that. Or thought she knew. Like much in the occult, let alone among witches, knowledge was power, and thus rare. False rumors were spread, to keep the ignorant suppressed. Truth was also spread by rumor, in the hopes it would be assumed to be false. Thus, those on the lowest rungs, like Wendy, absorbed it all, assumed all was true until shown to be false. After all, when everything seemed to be possible, what could be dismissed out of hand?
Peering into her Mistress's inner chamber, Wendy began to wish she had dismissed this one.
Slowly, bare feet not wanting to step on stone which suddenly felt as cold as death, she moved inside. Every apprentice did this. Snuck into the rooms of their teacher/master/lord. Peered around, not disturbing anything, hoping to learn some nugget of knowledge to help them, then ran like hell. A rite of passage. To succeed, was to know your own strength, know your limits were NOT your limits. Failure...
Well, you never found a "former" apprentice witch among the living.
Wendy kept her eyes off the nude boy strapped to the table. She needed to focus, concentrate. Mistress Quinnia would not be gone forever. Might not be gone now, for all she knew. The call could have been nothing, or maybe she'd magic her way there and back, appearing suddenly in front of the traitorous teen. Time was an unknown variable, a spell component with inexact limits. She had to be quick, yet careful. Speed without skill was as useless as skill without speed.
The room was well lit, for being underground. Oil lamps hung from thick ceiling beams, turned low when the room was empty of its owner but now bright due to the haste of her departure. Rough stone lined the walls, crumbling mortar filling the gaps. There were water stains, running down the walls in many places, but the smooth stone floor was dry. Shelves filled two of the walls end to end, books and bottles crammed into every inch of space. They were neat, free of dust, and well organized. Wendy recalled the tattered volumes she was given to use, falling apart, parts of pages missing. So, Mistress Quinnia wasn't the shambling slob she had thought. That, alone, had made this worth while.
In the far corner was the bed, neatly made, furs clean. Well they should be, given the time Wendy had spent in the past year cleaning those goddess awful things. She avoided the area, suspecting if there were any protective spells they might be there. If there were such things. Her knowledge, let alone skill, was lacking.
Her nude body, for clothing was not to be wasted on lowly beings such as her, slowly circled the room. Wendy's fingers itched as she passed priceless books of knowledge. She wanted to open them, let her eyes drink from them. It would be years, decades, if ever, before such knowledge would come to her. She could take a book. Take a dozen. Flee. Flee with the knowledge, train herself. Others had done it. At a cost, yes, but...
Once again standing before the open door, Wendy finally allowed herself to look at the long table that dominated the center of the room. It was made of a thick, solid oak. Sturdy, unyielding. Lying on its surface, arms and legs stretched and tied down, lay a boy. Teen. He, like her, was nude. He, like her, was a servant of the witch Quinnia. His fate, though...
The boy was blond, hair spread out on the table around his shoulders. White skin, almost abnormally so, was stretched over a thin, bony frame. His maleness ... she quickly looked away from it. It was hard, stretching up and over his belly. In desperation Wendy looked at his face.
Blue eyes looked silently back at her. He said nothing. He didn't have to. Those eyes said it all. He knew his fate. Knew ... she was not going to help him.
Wendy bit her lower lip. She did not know much about magic. Worse, she did not know what she didn't know, or if what she did know was right. The boy, though, was obviously to be used. He was male, after all, and Quinnia female. Magic had a gender. To cast male magic, you needed male components. Female magic, female components. Magic came from life. Thus...
Luckily, life did not have to be lost to be used, although the whispered rumor was that it could be. Power came from the life-force unique to each gender. For women ... it came from that which gave life to the next generation. Blood, the blood shared with the unborn baby. For males ... sperm, giver of life. Such components need not be human, and what little magic Wendy had managed to master had been practiced on animals. The phrase "like getting sperm from a mouse" was sadly now not an abstract saying. For you couldn't use your own blood, or sperm. The whole point of magic was adding power to your internal will, using that to project on and change the world. To use your own inner reserves would be to quickly drain yourself for even the smallest spell. Thus, masters in the craft collected ... servants, to provide what they needed.
Wendy swallowed hard. She was not such a servant. Such creatures did not live long, it was said. The boy before her ... the beautiful, blond boy...
"You disappoint me, girl."
Mistress Quinnia stood in the doorway, leaning on her staff. Her black eyes, peering out from behind scraggly black hair, froze the teen. Her black robe clad body, though lean, seemed to fill the exit, blocking all thought of escape. With a sigh, which seemed to hold a genuine touch of regret, the witch looked around the room.
"I will be honest, I thought you had already been here. Thought you had moved something, in fact, almost defying me to confront you. I had liked that, one reason I moved up your training. To find you here now..." She shook her head, eyes going back to the trembling girl. "I looked hard to find someone like you. I will have to look harder next time."
Wendy was going to die. It could take days, or weeks, but she would die. As surely as the boy next to her. She had to escape! But how? HOW? She knew no magic! No magic this creature did not know she knew, at least! Goddess, how could she be so STUPID!
The witch took a step into the room. Wendy backed up, moving down the table. Her hands cast out, trying to grab something, anything. Something she could throw. Use. Nothing! Nothing...
Almost as if drawn to it, her right hand touched the boy's hard member.
The spell came to her mind out of nowhere. She must have seen it, obviously. Read it in some book, at some time. One did not invent spells out of pure fantasy. Wendy could see the words, letters burning the blue of male magic before her eyes. She could feel her hand curl around the soft burning hardness of the boy, feel the energy. She saw Mistress Quinnia pause, eyes narrowing. That was all she needed.
Wendy's left hand came up, making two sharp gestures. Her right pumped once.
Jack was no longer a prisoner.
He could sense that, without even opening his eyes. The wind, for one, the feel of cool air flowing over his body, was a good sign. So too the grass, under and around his nude body, long blades molding to his form. He could feel the sun on his face. That wonderful, yellow sun. He moved. That, too, indicated freedom. His arms and legs were no longer bound. He could bend his knees. Glorious! There was pain, too, the feel of aching muscles and raw skin.
The pain of freedom.
He sat up, eyes opening once he was sure he wouldn't be looking directly into the sun. He was somewhere. That, at least, was certain. It was a grassy field, not quite on a hilltop but perhaps a bit off the summit. The ground slopped gently down to his left, and up on the other side. Figuring if there was some danger there was nothing he could do about it right then, he looked himself over. Jack's wrists were in the worst shape, the rough ropes having left painful rings of raw skin. He touched them, gingerly. It was going to hurt to use his hands much, at least for a day or two. Drawing his legs up, he saw his ankles were in a bit better shape. They had been free more of the time, as he had been made to walk to his doom when needed.
That, at least, probably hadn't changed.
Gingerly, almost fearing what he'd find, Jack touched his cock. It was soft, laying against his body like it was supposed to. Gone was the raging hardness, the unbearable buildup of ... something. The witch had done something to him. What, he had no idea. Now that he was free, he didn't want to know. It was over.
Deciding there was nothing more to be gained by just sitting there, Jack slowly stood. He paused, once he was up on one knee, making sure everything was working. His ankles caused him to grimace, protesting the work. Silently he chastised them to quit whining, do their job. With another push up, he rose to his feet. He raised his hands to the sky, eyes taking in the clouds.
A moan a short distance away had him dropping back down into a crouch. Something was over there. Someone.
Dropping down onto all fours, wrists now joining ankles in rebellion, Jack slowly crawled through the grass. Detouring around a large rock, he found her, sprawled on her back as he had been. Pausing, not wanting to get too close, he sat, taking her in. She was plump. Not fat, as an adult would be fat, but perhaps the plumpness of a girl turning into a woman who was filling out in certain places early. Her hips were wide, fleshy, breasts big for her size and seemingly almost all nipple. Her skin was a dark brown, the brown of the wet clay down by the stream where he had grown up. Jack could almost imagine someone had formed her out of it, sculpting those curves, stopping before the job was done. Her hair was a pale red, spread out around her face. A small patch was also between her legs.
He had seen her. In the witches lair. She ... well, now she was outcast. Whatever she had been, whatever deal she and the witch had made, it was over.
That did not make her friend, though.
The girl's eyes opened. There was confusion, silent but familiar. Jack watched her mirror his own mental process, waited for her to come to grips with what had happened. There was no hurry. If they could be found, caught, it would happen regardless. He, at least, was helpless in that regard.
Her eyes fell on him. There was no reaction for a good second or two, apart from a veil of confusion passing over her face. It lifted in an instant, though, the girl quickly rolling away from him. She almost lost control, the slope starting to get steep under her, but after a few feet she wrenched her body sideways and forced herself to her knees. The large breasts heaved. Seeing them now, in their natural state, hanging down slightly, distracted Jack. His eyes came back up to meet hers, though. He'd have time to look later.
Her voice was frightened. That, at least, was some comfort to him. To be afraid of him meant she was weak herself. More of an equal.
She steadied herself, body taking on a more relaxed stance. Recognition came to her eyes.
"You're the boy. From Mistress Quinnia's room."
Jack nodded. If she said so. He had no idea who the witch had been, nor cared. She paused, thinking. Slowly, she shook her head.
"I honestly don't know what I did. The spell ... it should have removed HER, not me, and definitely not you too! Not that I wish you were still back there! Goddess, no! I can't imagine..." Her voice faltered. Giving her head a violent shake, long pale red hair whipping this way and that, she regained focus. "Anyway. I'm Wendy."
Wendy stuck her hand out. Jack cocked his head, a smile touching his lips. Her expression faltered again, only to become a laugh. There was now a good six feet between them, making handshakes a bit difficult.
"Goddess, sorry! I'm so stupid today." Wendy walked on her knees towards him, hands occasionally going to the ground for balance. Her breasts hung down nicely at such times. Stopping a foot away, she sat up again and reached out her hand. Jack took it. Her hand was warm. The palm and fingers were calloused, those of long days of labor. There was a softness, though. A softness he liked.
Knowing what was going to come next, he answered her unspoken question. Still holding her right hand, his left moved up to touch his throat. Her eyes widened, understanding.
"You can't talk," she whispered. Jack nodded. He took her hand in both of his, palm up, pausing a moment to admire the lighter brown there. Taking a finger, he slowly traced the four letters of his name. "Jack..." He nodded again as she spoke, smiling. So, she could spell too, at least some. He was not too well read himself, but this at least was something.
Wendy, seemingly reluctantly, pulled her hand back. Her eyes looked around them.
"Well, Jack, I have no idea where we are. Far away, I think. Farther than she'll be willing to come after me, and you, probably. I think I really screwed up what she was planning for you, which I'm NOT sorry about." She seemed about to say more, but quickly moved on. "We probably should see what's around, think about food, shelter ... clothing." Her entire body seemed to gain a dark red tinge. Jack just nodded. With one fluid motion, ignoring the various pains, he stood. Reaching a hand down, he pulled her up. The dark girl came up to his shoulder, although the slope made such comparisons inexact. Releasing her hand, Jack motioned for her to lead the way.
Slowly, with dark clouds beginning to approach over the horizon, the two teens began their adventure.