Chapter 1: The Sorceress and You

"Come to buy?" says the sorceress

"Yes," you say. This is it.

 

She rises from her cushions, and walks to the opposite side of the tent. Her movements, though slow and deliberate, are fluid, as if the whole action was one single gesture. She reaches her hand up and pulls down a sheet from the wall, exposing a huge mirror that takes up an entire side of the tent, before languidly depositing herself back on her cushions.

 

"And what have you to pay?" she asks.

"I have gold," you say, holding up a clinking satchel. This is nearly everything you own.

There is a hint of amusement in the sorceress's eye. "I don't take that kind of payment," she says. "What else do you have?"

Your stomach drops, and you feel a lump of despair grow in your throat. "I don't have anything else."

She grins now, excited.

"Nonsense." She licks her lips.

Your breath hitches, and a shiver runs down your spine. This was a mistake. "What do you want from me?" Your voice shakes.

Her voice softens. "Don't worry too much. It's nothing you'll miss. Just give me your name."

"How?"

"Say it to me."

“          “

It is gone as soon as it leaves your lips, form and memory whisked from your mind like leaves in the wind.

The sorceress takes a breath in so deep that the airs stirs and the lantern flames flutter. She holds it for at least a minute before exhaling.

"Shall we get started then?" she asks.

You nod, and she pats on the pillow in front of her, motioning for you to sit facing the mirror.

You sink into the cushion, and she pulls you so you are laying with back against her chest. You can hear the flow of her breath, slowly drawing in and out.

In the mirror, you see her reach for an incense burner and light it. She places it on a small table to her side.

The incense is heady and dense, but you can't place the scent. When you inhale you can feel a deep tension in your muscles release. Your breath slows, and you feel a pervading sense of calm and security.

The sorceress reaches her hands around you and begins to slowly undo the clasp on your shirt, then gently lifts it off you. She does the same to your trousers, then your underwear.

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You see her in the mirror, her eyes tracing every inch of your body. You feel exposed, but not afraid. You are safe here.

"Are you ready?" she asks, quietly.

You nod.

She runs her hands through your hair, softly and slowly. Where her fingers touch your scalp you feel a tingling sensation, like goosebumps or a fizzy drink. With every stroke of her hand, your hair lengthens and softens, spilling in waves down your body until it is long enough to pool around your toes.

"I can cut it for you later, if you like," says the sorceress.

Her hands move to your face, tracing fingers slowly over your skin. The touch is so light that it nearly tickles, and in the places where she lingers for a little longer, bones mold like clay and flesh flows like water. The tracing of her fingers becomes no less gentle, but your face gets softer and more sensitive by the second; now each moment of contact is electric, a crackling pulse through your body. 

She places a finger on the corner of your lips, and slides it across them so slowly that it barely seems like she's moving at all. The sensation of her finger builds to such intensity that your breath hitches in your chest and your body can't help but shift and squirm. It is all you can do to keep your head still, but a soft whimper still escapes past your lips. The sorceress chuckles softly and plants a light kiss of the back of your head, then leans in to whisper in your ear. 

"You're doing wonderfully, pet. You don't have to be quiet. No one but me will hear you."

She glides her hands down your shoulders. Of all the sensations tonight, this is the first and only one that can be said to hurt, and you cry out as a deep pressure shifts and molds bones all throughout your body, widening hips, slimming shoulders, and cutting nearly a foot off your height.

The sorceress pauses for a moment, her husky breaths overlapping with yours as you both pant from the intensity of the last change. Her exhalations blaze against the back of your neck, and as you lay against her you feel the pulse of another warmth radiating from her much further down. Your face flushes with its own heat, and you see in the mirror across from you that she is watching your expression with a heady grin.

She runs a hand across your neck and the point of your Adam’s Apple is smoothed away. A small moan wanders from your lips, no longer restrained, elicited by simply the soft pressure of her fingers across your neck. Another change too, not seen, but heard in your moan: the subtle shifts of timbre and resonance, bright, sonorant, and feminine.

“Lie down, on your stomach please.” The sorceress gestures to some nearby pillows. You are slow to get up from the warm comfort of her embrace, but you comply, discomfited by the feel of your still-flat chest against the cushions.

“Calm, pet,” says the sorceress, from above you. “That too will come soon.” She kneels beside your prone body and places her hands on your lower back, sending shivers ricocheting through your form.

The sorceress begins to knead the lower half of your body, working the flesh of your hips, your thighs, your butt as if it were dough. Your thighs and hips grow heavier under her touch, and your butt rounds out into a shapely bubble. She helps you back up, then pulls you back until you are once again laying against her bosom. 

Her arms wrap around you as she brushes her fingertips across your chest. You gasp audibly as a lance of pleasure spikes through you, from nipples that are now tender and sensitive. A pleasant ache arises in your chest as she continues, drawing out first buds, then breasts in truth, growing ever larger as she massages them into fruition. The sorceress cups your boobs in her hands, taking a moment to appreciate their heft and shape. The way they feel on your chest as she touches them is foreign, yet familiar to you in a way you cannot describe.

“When we are done with this,” you ask, “can I see you again?”

“Hush, pet.” she whispers. “That I cannot say. The night grows old, and we are almost finished.”

The sorceress interlaces her fingers with yours and lifts your hand, letting the mosaics of warm light cast by the lanterns dance across your skin like fire. She guides your hand down your body, further and further until you reach your cock, which at your combined touch melts away like cool water, leaving a blank canvas. Her hand drifts down to a spot slightly lower than you expect and you both push in, pressing a hole into being as if she were guiding you in sculpting a vase on a pottery wheel.

The feeling is deeply strange, but there is something existentially fulfilling about the way her fingers feel inside you, how they massage a single point of intense feeling into being, nestled in the folds at the top of your pussy, how even a single brush of her fingertip sets a tidal wave of pleasure crashing up your body. You hear desperate, breathy moans filling the tent, and realize only a moment later that they are your own. Seismic waves of pleasure roll up you, building and building to an unbearable heat until you are at last sent tumbling over the edge of orgasm. Your back arches and your whole body trembles. A sensation unlike anything you’ve felt in your life wracks your body with ecstasy for minutes on end, leaving your body feeling weak and fragile, as if the pounding of your heart against your heaving chest is threatening to break through. You pant through a dazed grin, the muscles in your thighs still fluttering involuntarily as you slide down, exhausted, to lay your head in the sorceress’s lap, looking up at her. She too is gasping for air, her face flushed and gleaming with sweat, and there is a wild fire in her eyes as she gazes down at you.

“Now,” she pants, breathless, “there is but one step remaining. What shall you be called?”

There’s been a nugget of humming potential in your gut ever since the sorceress took your old name. Formless, but now begging to be realized. You know what it is, and speak aloud. “My name is…”

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