The Thaumaturge Ch. 09

Author's Note: A big thank you to Kurt Mueller for sponsoring this chapter of the Thaumaturge. I appreciate the support (and the clever idea.)

Sorry for the delay in getting this live; future postings to the series should be a little more consistent.

Also, this is a bit more erotic-horror-ish than prior chapters, but I don't think it's so far down that road to be a huge deviation from the overall the tone of the series.

Thanks for reading and enjoy.

--

Evidently the speaking portion of the reception had gotten started without us. A woman -- brassy red hair, bright lipstick, wearing a black pantsuit and blazer -- was speaking. She was a bit younger than the average age in the room -- in her mid 40s, maybe -- and had been one of the people around Professor Callis. She had an aristocratic lilt to her voice and was speaking into a handheld microphone.

"... And that's why, friends, when Elana Callis asks you if you've got a little space to show off a few small sculptures that might make for a half-decent exhibition, you ask her for more specifics." The crowd rumbled with laughter, and the woman smiled, clearly pleased with the reception that joke had gotten.

"That woman's name is Camilla. She owns the gallery. Iris introduced me to her earlier when we came in," Diana murmured to me. It made sense to me; even to my uncultured eye, the woman had Art Gallery Curator written all over her.

Then Diana turned a little away from everyone else, and started holding one hand above her forearm and muttering quietly in a low, chanting cadence.

Camilla continued. "But I should just let her speak for herself. Without further ado, here's Elana Callis. I know you'll enjoy hearing from her." The two women embraced, and then she handed the mic to my professor, accompanied by applause.

Diana and I were at the back of the room, and didn't attract any attention -- everyone was focused on the women speaking at the front. I glanced at her forearm; Diana was waving her hand above what seemed to be a tattoo of an owl.

Elana was wearing a dress with a geometric pattern on it -- green triangles against a white background. It was long, coming down around her ankles, but sleeveless and cut low, showing off strong pale arms and plunging cleavage.

"Well, unfortunately for Camilla, I'm not in the habit of speaking for myself very long. I try to let the art do the talking," Elana said, jovially, eyes twinkling from behind her glasses. "But I'll just say two things that you might like to be thinking about as you look through the exhibit downstairs."

As I watched there was a flicker of some kind of motion, from Diana's tattoo. It was subtle, hard to spot, and could've just been the dim light...

"First," Elana said, "all sculpture is fundamentally about capturing some aspect of life in nonliving materials. The beauty of sculpture, to me, is in the juxtaposition: life's movement, change, fluidity, dynamism, captured unexpectedly in an unmoving, inert substance. Bringing a bit of life to something that isn't alive, just by reshaping it. I just try to do that well. I'll let you judge whether I've succeeded."

I glanced back at Diana -- she was looking up, now, scanning the room with her eyes. She made a little surprised sound. I was still half-listening to Elana.

"And second," Elana continued, "The works in this exhibit are all living things sculpted in stone. One of the interesting things about life is how much of it is building, growing, adding. Most art is like that, too. To paint, you lay down colors, one on top of another, until they all add up to the picture you want. But sculpting is the opposite. You remove some material. And then some more. And then more. And then a little more, to refine the shape further. And then a little bit more. And in the end, if you've done your job right, what's left after you take everything else away is exactly what you want." Elana paused, letting that sink in.

"What? What is it?" I asked Diana in a low, impatient, murmur.

She leaned in, whispering to me. "Well, your professor is definitely magical. So's Camilla. And Iris is magical too, obviously. But besides you and me, that's it."

I opened my mouth to answer, but Elana was talking again. "Sculpture's about the accumulation of absences. About what's missing, and the shape that gives to what is left over. Sometimes, I think we could all benefit from living a little more like sculptors, and a little less like painters." She smiled, warmly. "Anyway. That's all. Enjoy the sculptures. I haven't figured out how to make them talk yet, but I do think they speak for themselves."

Laughter and applause followed. Camilla directed folks towards the elevators and stairs.

I turned to Diana, speaking a little more loudly now that there was the buzz of background conversation. "What kind of magical?"

Diana rolled her eyes. "Quite magical. Like, as magical as Iris. The spell isn't really more specific than that."

"Hmm." If I was honest, it made sense. Even that first interaction in class, when I'd been staring into her eyes, had not felt normal. "Think she's dangerous?"

"Yes," Diana said, immediately. "Everyone magical is dangerous." She hesitated for a moment, and then added, somewhat grudgingly, "But she's a potential ally for you, too. Like we were talking about earlier. Does she seem friendly?"

I nodded. "She did in class today, yeah."

"Great. C'mon, let's go talk to her."

I was still processing the fact that my art professor was... well, maybe a fairy. Or a witch. demon. Or a vampire. Or something else. "Are you sure--"

But Diana had grabbed my hand and started dragging me towards my professor. "Yes, I'm sure. C'mon, I'll be with you in case she's got a weird reaction. There's not going to be a better time than this."

Reluctantly, I followed Diana over towards Elana.

She was chatting with Camilla, the two of them watching as people filed into the elevator and down the stairs to explore the exhibition. They both turned as we approached, and a beatific smile formed on Elana's face when she saw me. "Matt! So good to see you!"

"H-hi, Professor." I smiled a little more timidly than I would've liked. "Great talk. This is Diana, my--"

"Your friend, yes! I remember. From your sketch in class. Your representation is quite good!" Elana's eyes practically twinkled with mischief.

"Your sketch?" Diana was, understandably, confused.

I blushed beet red. I had completely forgotten that I had picked Diana as the subject. "I, uh, I'll show you later," I mumbled. Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded.

"Anyway, great to meet you, Professor Callis," Diana said. "Looking forward to seeing your work."

"Nice to meet you too, dear. My, you're walking around with quite a lot of artwork yourself! Some of these pieces are very interesting..." Elana's eyes roved over Diana's tattoos appraisingly. "Would I be right to say that some of these aren't just artistic pieces? They've got... functionality, to them?"

I recalled the owl tattoo she'd been waving her hand over; maybe she'd been using it to cast the spell.

Diana nodded. "You would be right, yes. They're useful."

"Mmm. How very clever and practical. I don't believe I've seen that sort of thing very often before." Professor Callis looked from Diana, to me. "Do you have any tattoos like hers, Matt?"

I understood that the subtext here had communicated to Elana that Diana could do magic. But I was confused about how I was supposed to answer her. "No, I..."

Diana interrupted me. "No, Matt's got other sources of inspiration. You might say he's a font of it, himself."

Camilla, who had just been listening with a slightly bored smile on her face, suddenly looked much more interested in the conversation.

Professor Callis did, too. "Is he, now?" She looked me over, speculatively. "You know, young man, I thought you might be special when I saw you in class, today, but I wasn't sure. How wonderful. We must talk."

I nodded, uncertainly.

Then she glanced towards the stairs and sighed. "But not now. I hate to cut this short, but Camilla and I need to spend the next hour mingling with rich people. Come find me afterwards when things wrap up. Camilla, you'll let Matt and I stick around and talk for a bit, won't you? I'll close up afterwards."

Camilla snorted. "Well, you've practically taken over the space with your modest works anyway, Elana. I don't see why you shouldn't just have the keys to the place."

Elana looked unbothered. "Precisely so, dear."

The two of them headed for the stairs, Diana and I trailing after.

---

"You... you can't leave me here alone, Diana! Iris is going to steal my name or trick me into giving her my firstborn child or something!"

We had milled among the sculptures for half an hour or so. It was easy to see why Camilla had been poking fun at Elana's modest sculptures. The collection was massive -- maybe a dozen pieces -- and they were all enormous, carved marble that must've weighed tons each. Elana and I were currently staring at a sculpture called Forest Floor, which was a life-sized forest scene meticulously carved out of marble -- complete with trees, birds and squirrels, a deer grazing, even a mountain lion watching.

I was currently staring at one particular detail: a human skull, which was nestled innocuously enough among the roots of a tree. It wasn't the focal point of the scene. More of an afterthought. And it felt ominous that as I stared looked at the omen of death, Diana casually let me know she was going to leave.

Diana's reply was flat, if a bit irritated. "Yes, I can. I had other plans for my evening besides babysitting you. Besides, you'll be fine, Matt. Iris knows you're with me. So do Camilla and Elana. It'd be very rude for them to do anything untoward. And nobody else is here. Time to take off the security blanket. Just text me if you get into trouble, ok?"

The mention of texting reminded me that I still had my other security blanket -- the artifact from Lauren -- and that I could teleport to her place on a moment's notice, if I needed to.

That made me feel a little better. "Ok. I'll see you later, then. And hey... thanks."

She leaned forward, gave me a hug. "For the great sex?" She whispered it in my ear.

I laughed. "Yes. But I was actually talking about the... dose of perspective."

That half-smile appeared on her lips for a moment. "No problem. Have a good time." She turned and strode off towards the exit.

I found a spot to contemplate some sculptures, and wait for Professor Callis to finish mingling.

---

I was sitting on a bench, next to a piece called The Coupling. It was a man and woman, bodies clearly intertwined in the act of sex, the man atop the woman. It was magnificently rendered in stone. There was one technique in particular that I was trying to wrap my head around. Any place where their bodies met -- at the hips, where the man's hand rested on the woman's thigh, the woman's hand on the man's bicep, and so on -- their bodies just sort of... seamlessly came together. The way the two bodies seemed to merge, while still being distinct and exquisitely detailed, was remarkable. I kept noticing little tricks she'd used to achieve the effect.

"Like it?" It was Professor Callis. She sat next to me on the bench.

I nodded vigorously... then realized maybe I was being too enthusiastic, for a sculpture that very accurately depicted two attractive people having sex. I slowed my nod down. "The techniques you use where they're joined are really effective."

She smiled. "Thank you, dear. If I'm honest, I've always been best with sculpting people. It's where my real talent lies."

"I thought your other pieces were quite good, too, professor," I protested. "I liked Forest Floor a lot!"

"Now, now, buttering me up won't get you any better grades, young man," she said. She said it severely, but it made me grin.

She smiled too, after a moment. "And you have to call me Elana. Besides, we're not here to talk about my art. Tell me, is what Diana said true?"

"I'm... not really sure what she said, to be honest," I confessed. "I'm a little new at this."

"She said you're a font. A thaumaturge." Elana let the word hang between us in the silence.

I just nodded, again.

"Mmm." Her eyes practically glowed with satisfaction in the low light of the exhibit space. "And you said you're new... who's helping you, who are your allies? Diana?"

"Diana and a few other witches, yes," I said, guardedly.

She leaned forward earnestly, concern in her eyes. "Diana seems just lovely, dear. But she doesn't seem all that... experienced. Do you have someone who's been around a bit longer, who can show you the ropes? Help you get your footing? Keep you safe? Has maybe done this before, for other thaumaturges?"

The earnestness, the motherly concern, was already giving me a sense of relief. This felt like the kind of help I needed. "Not really, no..."

"Well, then. Can I help you, dear?" Those brown eyes met mine, crinkled into a hopeful smile.

"What, um... kind of help... would you be able to... give?" I got the words out more slowly than I expected, as I met her gaze. As they had been in class, her eyes were big, and dark. They were deep, mirrored pools. They didn't pull me in, exactly; it was more like I drifted in of my own will, plunging into their embrace, warm...

I blinked. She had said something, was looking at me expectantly. I mentally played back the last few... seconds?... trying to figure out what she'd said.

She gave me a knowing smile, and repeated, "I was saying that I can do lots of things, dear. I've been around a little while, and I know the magical world pretty well. I'd be happy to give you good advice." She gave a self-deprecating smile. "And I could help sculpt your power in a few other small-but-useful ways, too."

"Is... is that a metaphor? Sculpt my power? And... and I hope this isn't offensive, but what are you? Your eyes are..." I trailed off, not wanting to say any of the words that came to mind. Hypnotic. All-encompassing. Sexy. "... really nice," I finished.

She smiled. "Why thank you, dear. And I'm sorry, I know they can be distracting. I do mute the effect as much as I'm able, and the glasses help but it still... spills out, sometimes." She patted my thigh... which prompted me to realize that her hand had been resting on my thigh for a while, now. When had she put her hand there?

"I'll tell you what I am, but it has to be just our little secret, ok?" She paused, waiting for me to nod, and then stage-whispered, conspiratorially, "I'm a gorgon."

I was speechless for a moment. "Like... Medusa? Snakes-for-hair? Turn-men-to-stone?"

She nodded. "Yes, that kind of gorgon."

I looked at her -- glasses, wavy brown hair, pretty face. "So how come I'm not turning to stone? Are you like... using some illusion for your hair?"

She rolled her eyes. "Those sorts of myths are mostly allegorical, dear boy. My guess is that a bunch of horny Greek men all got erections from looking at a pretty young woman named Medusa, and went and told some friends about how she turned them to stone. Maybe she liked to collect statuary on top of that, had a pet boa constrictor or two. That sort of thing. That's all you need before someone's ready to label you a monster, especially back in those days. I imagine, anyway."

I snorted at the humor. That did make sense. And then -- with embarrassment -- it registered that I was now hard, like the horny Greek men she was talking about.

Elana sighed. "The underlying truth behind the myth, though, dear, is that gorgons are excellent sculptors and shapers, especially of humans. People come especially easy for us; rendering them in stone, wood, whatever. But it includes the shaping of people, too."

My face reddened. I didn't think the double entendre in people come especially easy for us was intentional, but -- sitting next to her, rock hard just from looking in her eyes -- it was impossible not to think of it. I swallowed. "Um, okay. What does that mean you can do?"

"Well, let's focus on you, dear. And I'm going to use some frank language, in the interest of cutting to the chase. Your power is connected to sex, obviously. And so you might like some adjustments that would help make that more... fulfilling. I've helped other thaumaturges with things like their anatomy, the quality of their erections, their stamina..."

She continued speaking. But admittedly, I'm not sure what else she said. Her gaze was locked on mine, and I wasn't about to look away. I sank into the blissful sensation of those eyes, letting them encompass me, gentle and warm...

I blinked and wrestled back to the surface and my thoughts. I latched on to the first few things she'd said. "My... anatomy? Like... my size?"

She smiled indulgently. "Yes, dear boy. That's a relatively easy one, even. Perhaps we'll start there, just as a demonstration of what's possible with my help? It'll only take a moment."

I considered that. In spite of the comment that Diana had made earlier tonight, I'd always been pretty happy with my size.

But what guy would say no to a bit more? Not me, certainly. The idea was pretty exciting, that was for sure. How might Diana react, or Viv, the next time...

I cut off that train of thought before I got carried away. "Um... okay. But not like... too big a change, right?"

She quirked up an eyebrow. "Oh, I see. You want to be smaller instead?" She waved away the look on my face. "Sorry, a little joke, but probably not very funny to make, just before I sculpt you. Although I have gotten that request before, believe it or not. But don't worry. I've got a good eye for proportion, dear; I am a sculptor, after all. It won't be... cartoonish, or garish. I would never. Now, if you'll just get it out, I can get to work..." she looked down at my groin again, expectant.

I met her eyes, and my thoughts drifted into those dark pools. I couldn't help but think about the many ways she might get to work on me, what it might mean that she knew the human body so well, how she'd feel--

Once again, I wrenched myself, by force of will, back into the moment.

I unbuckled my belt and slid my pants down, then my boxers. "I'm, um, sorry about my... state," I said, embarrassed. I was now absolutely, uncontrollably, rock hard, the kind of erection that's so hard it's almost painful.

"Quite alright, dear. Nothing to be sorry about, it's a natural response," she murmured. Her gaze was fixed on my cock, now. "Very nice. Everything certainly seems to be in good working order here..."

Her tone was suggestive, and I flushed with pleasure.

"Now. Before we get started. Here's the thing about these alterations, dear: they require a certain degree of focus from me, and they're a delicate process. Once I start working on them, I can't stop. Trust me when I say you don't want me to leave the... sculpting work... half-finished." She wrinkled her nose distastefully.

I nodded my vigorous understanding at that. I did not want an incomplete penis.

"What that means for this particular alteration -- because it's an adjustment to your size -- is that I'll need you to stay hard until I'm done. If you don't, the results just won't come out right. But this'll be quick; it'll only take a minute or so."

I just had to stay hard for a minute? "I, uh, don't think that'll be a problem."

She smiled. "It certainly doesn't seem like it. Okay. I'll begin, then."

And then she brought her hands and lightly began grazing them over my cock.

Her movements were deft and confident, if a little odd. It was less like a handjob, and more similar to a potter, using a pottery wheel, or maybe a painter, making brushstrokes. Except that the paintbrush was her fingers, and the canvas was my cock. Feathery touches, with mostly upward motion, not downward. But with each touch, the sensation increased, until her hands felt incredible. I wasn't sure if it was the magic, or her technique, or both, but every flick of her fingers sent a wave of pleasure washing over me. I looked up, away from the movement of her hands, and her eyes met mine again.

"Very responsive. Those young witches don't really know what they've got," she murmured. "I don't think they've been properly draining you at all."

"I -- ah -- I mean, they're -- ungh -- they've been -- mmm --" I gave up on trying to get words out after only a few attempts. The sensations were too intense. I just leaned back, staring into her eyes.

"Mmm, that's it. Just relax. Good boy. Oh, this is turning out very nicely indeed," she murmured. Her gaze was still locked on mine.

She paused, focusing on the work, but then continued. "At any rate, I'm sure they're doing their best, aren't they, dear? But you wouldn't be so sensitive right now if they were really utilizing your full potential. You've got depth to you, Matt."

Her gaze, once again, had my thoughts slowly drowning. I didn't respond; It took all of my willpower just to keep my mind in the moment.

"Almost done... you're doing really well..." She cooed the words out.

I wallowed in the praise. The words felt so good. So did her eyes -- so warm, so gentle.

"Just the finishing touches, now," she murmured. "A little more girth, and then some blending work..."

The movement of her hands changed. I couldn't look away from her eyes to see, but it felt like she had wrapped both of her hands around my cock, and started pumping in slow, twisting motions.

I groaned as the change in technique registered. The surface of my cock felt slick, well-lubricated, and her slow strokes were exquisite.

After only a few seconds, I knew if she kept going, I was going to cum. That it was going to be a massive, overwhelming orgasm, maybe the hardest I'd ever cum in my life.

You know those photos of a tsunami about to hit, looming over a shoreline, dwarfing the houses and trees and structures the wave is about to obliterate? The ones that capture the contrast in size, between the coast and the ocean about to crash down on top of it?

That's what it felt like as the orgasm approached me.

"I'll -- you're -- I --" It was all I could get out, staring into her dark eyes, consumed by the sensations of her hands on me.

And then the movement abruptly ceased. "All done," she said, cheerfully. "Now, let's take a look..." she pulled her gaze away.

I sagged as she broke eye contact, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. I realized I was panting like a racehorse, gasping for air.

"Mmm... very nice," she said appreciatively, looking down. "This might be some of my best work."

I collected myself and looked down as well.

And stared, in astonishment.

My cock looked... perfect.

There's no other way to say it. I was longer than I had been. A good bit girthier. There were virile, masculine veins running along the length. The head was bulbous, well-proportioned, attractive atop the shaft.

It still looked like mine -- I'd had a slight upward curve, and that was still there, and the texture and tone of the skin was familiar. Just... upgraded, substantially.

"What do you think, dear? And do be honest, my ego can take it." But I could hear the assured confidence of a master artist, proud of her work, in the question.

She already knew the answer.

I shook my head in disbelief and, slowly, reached down and wrapped a hand around my length. It felt noticeably different -- thicker, heavier in my hand.

And my hand felt good on my length. I put a second hand atop it, noting how much still protruded out past my stacked hands.

Finally, I looked up at her and let out a quiet laugh. "Elana, this is... incredible. Wow. Thank you."

"Thank you, dear. You were an excellent subject to sculpt. It's always a pleasure to do good work. You'll likely notice increased sensitivity, stronger orgasms, too. There are just more nerve endings now, you know."

Then she looked down at my cock again. "Definitely some of my best work." Her whisper had a throaty arousal to it, and I could feel my cock react, twitching in my hands.

But then, her voice turned businesslike. "Now, dear. I hope you see why having me as an ally might be useful. Anything else I can do? We should head out -- Camilla will be furious if we're here all night -- but I could make one more adjustment tonight, I think. Is there something specific that interests you? Increase your semen production, maybe? That's a fun one. You don't seem to need help with staying erect..." She looked down again, appreciatively.

Her mention of increased sensitivity, though -- and the insecurity I had been feeling since running into Brooke this morning -- made it an easy choice.

"I, uh... could use some help with... lasting longer," I said, looking away. An easy choice, but an embarrassing one to say out loud.

"Of course, dear boy, of course," she said, encouragingly. She stretched her hands, overhead, like she was warming up, interlocking her fingers and flexing them. "Now, that's a more complicated change. It involves sculpting both your mind and your body."

"Okay," I said, uncertainly. That did sound complicated. But the idea of improving my stamina just the way she'd improved my cock... well. It would be worth it.

"Unlike size, stamina and control isn't only physical, you see. It's mental. So it'll take longer." Elana pursed her lips, thoughtfully. "Ten minutes, say."

I nodded. That seemed fine. I mean, it's not like I would have any trouble staying hard for that long with Elana, she--

"And the particulars are a little different. For this sculpting, you can't orgasm until it's finished, dear. Just hold off until I'm done, and you'll have perfect control. It's the same way that you had to stay hard for the last one; trust me, you don't want a job half-done." Her cheeks dimpled in a smile.

Oh. My heart sank. There was no way I could do that.

"So, shall I get st..." She took in the disappointment on my face. "What's wrong, Matt?"

"I, um... I really don't think I can last that long," I confessed. God, this was humiliating. "I was... just about to finish when you stopped just now. Maybe we should, uh, do something else."

Her brow furrowed. "Oh. I see. Well, now I understand why you're interested in this particular adjustment..."

She tapped her lips thoughtfully with one finger for a moment, and then brightened. "That does make it more complicated, but it's not insurmountable. I'll just need to use some of my power to help you."

"You... can do that?"

She gave me a kindly smile. "Of course, dear. Now, I'll have to take off my glasses for this. Once I do that, it'll become quite... distracting... for you. Don't worry about that, though; it'll allow me to use my full powers to help you. I'll block your orgasm, blunt the arousal, until I'm done. Just let me know when you're ready."

She was so reassuringly competent. She would help me. This was the kind of ally I had hoped for.

And I really wanted the improvements to stamina on offer. The thought of how I'd be able to perform in the bedroom -- Viv writhing in pleasure underneath me, or maybe even that werelion, Brooke...

I took a deep breath, exhaled, and nodded.

"Good, good. Now, first thing's first..."

She took her glasses off.

Reflexively, I met her gaze, looking into those big brown eyes.

There was -- somewhere in my hind brain -- a moment of disorienting, terrifying, primal fear. I was meeting the gaze of something inhuman, utterly unrecognizable to me. Her eyes were ancient voids. Dark, like the space between the stars. Deep, like the unlit ocean floor, with hidden movement that suggested creatures, large and predatory, indistinct but circling closer, closer, closer--

And then it was as if my brain rebooted in low-power mode. All those thoughts fell away.

My perception slowed, and narrowed. I was staring into her eyes, but they didn't have those same terrible qualities as they had a moment before -- instead they were full of their usual safety, warmth, and kindness. I was floating, suspended in her gaze. Lassitude enveloped me. I let out a long, slow, peaceful sigh.

"Good boy," she crooned. "Now, let's begin."

I felt her hands begin pumping me, just as she had before. Slow, luxurious strokes, with two hands, up and down my length.

I felt an odd sensation -- as if her hands were working my mind as well as my cock. Stroking it. Massaging it. Twisting, swirling motions that reordered things, lingering touches that shifted things around in my mind. But -- like her touch on my cock -- it wasn't unpleasant.

The opposite, in fact.

I became aware that I was letting out a low moan with each stroke of her hands. I didn't bother to stop myself; wasn't sure I could stop myself, even if I wanted to. This felt so good.

"A very nice start, dear," Elana murmured. "Such a receptive medium in my hands. You're doing so well."

There was just one problem.

I had gotten right to the edge before, and with each pump of her hands, I could feel myself getting closer again. And she was right -- my improved cock seemed to receive more pleasure from her touch than I had before. There was that same sensation that I was oddly lubricated, and her smooth, even pumping of my cock was going to make me--

"No, no," Elana murmured, amusement in her voice. "That won't do."

There was a flicker of something, behind the warm safety of her eyes, and I felt the orgasm recede. The pleasure was still there, still building in me, but the orgasm had just gotten further off, as if it was bobbing away on the waves of the ocean of bliss I was floating on.

I let out a little groan of relief.

"Now, I've got to speed up for a little bit, dear. This is a tricky bit. Just focus..."

Her hands were suddenly everywhere on my length. They didn't even feel like hands and fingers anymore; just the sensation of smooth, lubricated motion, enveloping my cock, stroking me.

The effect on me was predictable. Almost immediately, I could feel the orgasm looming again. I was helpless to stop it. I couldn't even speak.

"Now, Matt, come on. I'm just getting started. You've got to help me. Work to keep control of yourself, please," Elana said. I could hear -- behind the warm assurance -- a note of concern in her voice, now.

It made me concerned, too. I had lost all sense of time, but the idea that she was just getting started -- that there was much more of this to endure, without cumming -- was impossible.

She did something, again, that flicker behind her eyes, and I felt the orgasm recede. But almost immediately, I could feel it building once more.

"C-can you -- mmpph -- give me a break -- ah -- please --" Forming words was so difficult, staring into her eyes, with her hands on me. I could hear the desperation in my own voice.

She shook her head, eyes still fixed on mine. "Sorry, dear boy. But I can't interrupt this now that it's begun. I have to complete the sculpting to give you control of your orgasms. If we interrupt it now, even for a second, it'll leave me in control of them. And it won't be easy to correct. Just try to focus on holding back, please."

Leave her in control of my orgasms? I struggled to process that through the overwhelming sensations. "W-what does that mean?"

"You'd only be able to orgasm with me, dear. At least for a while. Now, focus, please. I'm working as quickly as I can, and then I can give you full control." Her hands had slowed now, but they were still moving. Thorough, firm, inexorable strokes.

I felt a sense of panic. Only orgasm with her? Through the haze of pleasure, I wondered if she'd arranged this on purpose.

The conversation had distracted me, at least a little, but now that need, the sensation that I was going to cum, that I had to cum, was back in earnest. I tried to think about something else -- anything else -- but it was no use.

"H-how much longer?" I was almost afraid to ask.

That flicker went through Elana's eyes again, and I felt the orgasm recede -- significantly, this time. Like she'd put more oomph into it, or something.

"We're about halfway done, Matt. But... I need to stop using my power to help you resist, dear, and focus on the sculpting. I didn't count on you needing quite so much... assistance."

Her voice was... well, not... condescending, but I could hear a little amusement there, amidst the usual kindness. I flushed with humiliation.

"I'm trying," I mumbled. I couldn't even look down and away from her eyes with embarrassment; I was stuck, staring helplessly into them, feeling the orgasm growing once again with every pump of her hands.

"I know you are, dear," she enthused. "Just focus."

"I-I'm doing my best, but I don't think I can last much longer." I moaned the words out. The orgasm was an avalanche heading towards me from thousands of feet above. That tsunami again. It was still further off, but racing towards me, growing closer -- and larger -- by the second.

"Now, dear, don't fixate on it so much." Her voice was sterner than it had been. "It'll just make it more difficult, if you focus on it. Besides -- would it be so bad?"

"W-would what?"

"Only cumming for me, I mean," she whispered. There was definite teasing in her voice, now. "I know all sorts of fun tricks, after all."

"I-I don't want... I wanted to--" But I cut off in another moan as one of her hands drifted up to the head of my cock, running over it, delicately. I writhed.

"All sorts of things I could show a good boy like you. With a nice, perfect, big dick, like the one you've got now, Matt," she whispered.

I couldn't respond anymore. I was going under, drowning in her eyes, under her touch.

"And it wouldn't be forever, of course. It'd probably revert in... oh, a few years, say. Hardly any time at all, really," she mused.

I barely heard her. This was it. That avalanche was bearing down on me, now. There was no escaping it.

"And like I said... those girls aren't draining you properly... you need someone to really take care of your cock..."

I tried to look away, to pull out of her grasp. I thought about reaching into my pocket, using my phone to teleport to Lauren's place. But I couldn't even will my body to move. Couldn't do anything besides try to hold off the orgasm.

"I would do that for you, of course. So, I mean, if you just can't last, it won't be so bad, dear," she murmured, her tone reasonable.

I gritted my teeth, wrestling with the pleasure, trying to stave off the inevitable just a bit longer, hoping her hands would stop moving, that she'd announce the sculpting complete.

She didn't.

Her voice turned soothing. "You're doing your best, I know. But if it's too much; if you need to cum, just have to let it out, that's okay, dear. I think you should."

There was an expectant look in her eyes, now. One I couldn't look away from.

"You could do it. Right now, if you need to. Just let go and cum for me."

The pleasure, her eyes, the way she was telling me I could do it, that it would be okay -- it was too much to resist. The orgasm came crashing down on me.

I didn't so much as spurt cum as fountained it.

I couldn't make a sound; every muscle in my body locked up, flexed at once. Except my eyes, which were open -- my gaze transfixed by hers -- as I spurted my load everywhere.

"Aw. That's it... let it out. Good boy. It's okay, you tried so hard," she murmured, all consoling praise. Her hands were still milking me, pumping.

The pleasure wracked my body; I shuddered with each ejaculation. I could feel my cock clenching with each eruption of cum. It just kept going, one after another.

But, eventually -- like always -- it subsided. Elana pulled her hands away, smiling sympathetically, and then looked away, retrieving her spectacles.

If I had sagged before when she broke eye contact, now I slumped like a ragdoll. I realized at some point I had broken out in a sweat. I felt drained; not just the ease of having just had an orgasm, but completely spent.

She made a tutting, clucking sound as she looked the two of us over. "Well, I'm so sorry, dear. I did try. I just didn't plan for you to have so much trouble controlling yourself." She was absolutely plastered with my cum.

I blushed, dazed. "S-so I can only... orgasm for you, now?" My lips were tingling and my mouth didn't seem to be working properly yet.

She nodded. "Yes. I know it's not what we planned. But it's not permanent. And I'm happy to help drain you, of course." She gave me a sad, sympathetic smile. "I do think you'll enjoy it. I know that's not much consolation, but..."

Right. Only for a few years. My heart sank.

I opened my mouth again to make the obvious accusation: that she had planned this. That it was her fault I'd failed, that it had been her goal all along. That she had just wanted control of me, had tricked me to win my trust.

But admittedly, I was confused. I looked down at my cock -- bigger, thick and still hard, but beginning to soften. It was hard to be mad at her knowing she'd given me this. Had it really be on purpose?

And on top of that -- in the back of my mind -- was the sensation I'd had of meeting her gaze when she'd first taken her glasses off. Those first few petrifying, terrifying seconds, the primal fear of seeing what she really was. I was acutely conscious of the fact that we were here, alone. Just the two of us, me and this who-knew-how-old gorgon, capable of reshaping human flesh at her whim.

Who now, apparently, controlled my orgasms. And thus, my power.

So instead, I closed my mouth and gave her a wan, exhausted smile. "Th-thanks, Elana. I-I'm tired. I think I'll... head home..."

"Of course you're tired, dear. That was a lot." She reached one hand out and, affectionately, ruffled my hair. "I'll see you at class on Thursday. We can talk more then."

---

The next few minutes were a blur. I got home and stumbled into bed, exhausted, worried, and confused. There was only one question burning in my mind: who to ask to help me fix this?

Unless I wanted to spend a lot more time with Professor Callis than I had expected over the next few years, I knew I needed help.

The only question was: which witch? Viv, Lauren, or Diana?

... Although the thought of telling anyone what had just happened felt incredibly embarrassing. Maybe I should just try to figure this out for myself.