Hikaru's Need

NOTE: Lesbian. The characters in this story are older versions of two of the main characters from Saisho no San. You don't have to read that to understand this short, but if you wanted to kick me a few bucks, I'd say it's definitely one of the better of the SMW stories.

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Umiko sensed her friend coming from several miles away. She didn’t let that interrupt her lecture, however, keeping a cool, pleasant smile as she addressed the thousand people who had come to listen to her presentation.

Umiko’s seminar on the history of Sex Magic and its proper use in society was a popular one. Everyone sought the wisdom of the Professor who was among the first women in Japan to gain the Magic, and one of the first to start publicly discussing it via YouTube and various forums. When the Japanese government was initially trying to keep the Magic’s existence low key and ban its discussion, Umiko Ryoki insisted on educating the people. Even as a college freshman, her understanding of the Magic, and how important it was to maintain a fair and balanced use of it, was a guiding beacon for many.

Celebrity Sex Mage

NOTE: This story uses fake versions of existing celebrities as a narrative shorthand. It is not meant to be a serious speculation on what their real world counter parts would be like in this scenario.

ONE

My cock was rock hard as I typed away at my keyboard. I had to fight to resist the urge to stroke myself as I once again added words of sexy teasing to the side of a picture of a sexy celebrity. My favorite celebrity, a woman I’d jacked off to more pictures of than any three actual nude models combined: Irma Jane Watkins.

I’d always fantasized about female domination to some degree or another. Every girl I ever had a crush on, I dreamed of being her servant, or her using me for her pleasure. When I discovered orgasm denial, that quickly became a pervasive theme of my fantasies. This only got more intense when I discovered chastity belts. Ironically, the idea that I could not touch my dick when excited, could not achieve orgasm when I needed, make me rock-fucking-hard and made me cum faster than any other fantasy. The idea of a girl I liked giggling as she locked my penis in a cage, and then waving the key in front of me tauntingly, it made my head spin.

Sistress

ONE

For years now, I had wanted to destroy my brother with Sex Magic. I masturbated several times a week to the thought of finally obtaining the power to torture his cock with my mind until he went insane! I really don’t even know why the idea was so powerful in my mind. I didn’t want to fuck my brother, I wasn’t in love with him in that way or anything. As annoying as he could be, for all the little pranks he’d pulled on me when we were kids, it wasn’t even like I really hated him or anything. I just could not get the concept out of my head, and the closer I got to gaining the Magic, the more intense the desire!

Some girls were lucky enough to awaken their Sex Mage powers at eighteen, but as cool as that would be, I wasn’t banking on winning that lottery. So I forced myself to be patient. I was now eighteen and eleven months, I felt myself growing giddy with anticipation. Which is why it was so devastating when this morning Mom sat us both down for a talk that put my plans into jeopardy!

Found and Lost

ENTRY 1

I’m not sure who will ever end up reading this, but I’ve decided to keep this journal for the purpose of… honestly, I don’t know. Evidence on the off chance I get rescued, and my captor can be prosecuted? Maintaining my own sanity? Staving off the boredom of nothing better to do most of the time?

My name is Art, short for Arthur. I’m writing this all down because I have become a prisoner to a woman with whom I had a brief fling a year or two before she gained her Sex Mage powers. And lucky me, she ended up being one of those Archmage freaks, the ones who don’t just block your orgasms and give you psychic handjobs, but who can do crazy shit like breathe fire and duplicate themselves and shapeshift. In her case, she gained the power to alter people’s size. Make herself a giantess or shrink down men. That’s what she did to me.

Let me back up. I met this girl, Beth, at a frat party, in college. I was twenty-one, she was barely eighteen. This was a year before Sex Magic ever appeared; this was well before every woman on earth gained the power to psychically control men’s bodies and minds through our dicks. I’m drunk and I’m horny, and I see this cute little piece of ass, timidly in the corner. I come on a little heavy, I guess. If I’m being honest, I don’t remember the night totally clearly. But I remember, Beth, she didn’t put up any sort of fight. I don’t think she was drunk at all. She was just painfully shy. Like, I’m hitting on her, and she’s just blushing and stuttering, and I dunno man, there’s just something about young, nervous virgins that just makes me want to bed them and break them in, ruin them for all other men, you know? That’s what my dumb-ass drunk self thought back then, anyway.

Reading this over, it seems like I raped her, doesn’t it? I know how this goes. Guy and girl meet at a party, they’re drunk, they sleep together, don’t remember what happened, but she regrets it, so she charges him with rape. Or he regrets it and doesn’t call her afterwards, and she gets ticked and charges him with rape as revenge.

Well, I didn’t rape her. I came on aggressive, but she never said no or pushed away my hands. She was just too shy to make the first moves. Once I got her into a room, she let me do whatever. She was crying out and moaning and letting me do anything I wanted. I like to imagine I plowed her for hours until she couldn’t take anymore, but I’m pretty sure I shot off in like five minutes and passed out. I blame the booze.

Anyway. I wake up the next morning. She’s still definitely a cutey, but not my usual lay, not by my sober standards anyway. I leave her at the frat house, still asleep. Somehow, she got my number off my phone, though, because she’s texting me the next day. I try to ignore her, but she figures out where my dorm room is and confronts me there. I’m afraid at first she’s gunna say she’s pregnant, but no, she just wanted to see me again.

Look, I felt a little bad, okay, nobody likes being the receiving end of a pump and dump, I get it. But this girl just wasn’t my type. We hung out a little bit, and she was just a complete bore. Talking about clothes and the dumb shit she posted on Facebook and whatever. I let her give me a couple handjobs, but she wasn’t even good at them. She didn’t let me fuck her again, saying she wanted to keep it special and “do it for real when the time is right” whatever the fuck that means.

After a week of this crap, I dump her. She’s real upset, but I just put my foot down and cold shoulder her until she takes a hint. After a couple weeks, she stops talking to me.

A year later, Sex Magic appears.

Hope

ONE

They could sense her approaching before they ever saw her: Hope Escher. The Woman From the Edge of Town. The Cock-Breaker. The Glitch-Bitch. The Broken Lady.

The forty-five year old woman didn’t appear particularly noteworthy. Five and a half feet tall, a slim build, a small bust, and a rather plain face. Light blond hair cut off at the shoulder, grey eyes, and fair skin. She could pretty herself up quite nicely if she tried, but she was average enough that under normal circumstances, no one would notice her in a crowd. Although the rejuvenating nature of Sex Magic gave her the body of a twenty year old, you could tell she was really middle-aged. She carried herself like an older woman, kindly stoic, almost matronly, dressed in simpler, more practical clothing. Slacks, a white blouse, flat brown shoes, and a light green cardigan sweater. She even drove an old, clunky scooter, not a common vehicle to be sure, but just the sort of utilitarian thing for a quick run into town for errands.

Hope was just an average woman going about her day, but when she entered town, everyone took notice, whether they wanted to or not. She tried to make the trip quick. Just zip into town, stop by the grocery store, post office, gas station, and back home. Her old scooter puttered worryingly as she steered onto the main street. She was going to have to get it fixed, and she wasn’t sure she had the money for that. Her budget was tight this month.

Pulling up into the parking lot of the grocery store, she tried to ignore the glares. Living in a tiny town meant she only had a couple places to go for supplies, and that meant repeatedly interacting with the same women who just wanted to punch her teeth in.