The Thaumaturge Ch. 12

Lauren was looking at me, steadily. "It's your call, Matt, I'm not about to pick for you. Which will it be -- getting her off, or finding some way for you to get off?"

It was an easy choice, really.

There was no way in hell I was going to sign myself up for making Elana orgasm.

One, I didn't think I could do it. Whether it was in the mirror or in person last night, I could barely look her in the eye.

And two, her control over me, her power, scared the hell out of me.

My mind was putty in Elana's hands. Literally.

"Um... let's go with someone else getting me off."

"Great. I was hoping you'd say that. Trying to go after Elana seems insane." She looked relieved.

I let out a shaky breath, and nodded.

"I'll work on that. It'll take me a few more hours." She went over to the bookshelf and pulled out a different book.

"Okay, but I... I've gotta go do something, Lauren. I can't just sit here. I'm gonna go to the gym, alright? I need to let off some steam somehow. I feel like I'll go insane otherwise. I won't go confront Elana or anything, promise."

She bit her lip, looking concerned. "I get it, I guess. The gym seems like a good idea, you do look... pretty stressed. Just... be careful, y'know? If you run into trouble -- of any kind, but especially Elana -- just... just use the emergency spell I gave you, okay?"

"I will," I promised.

---

Forty minutes later, across campus and in the gym, I was feeling much better.

I'd barely made it in the door, if I was honest. Whatever Elana had done -- whatever shape my mind was in -- the arousal was all-consuming. Having sex with Viv -- as hot as it had been -- had made it worse, too. Watching Elana get me off in the Mirror of Misfortune certainly hadn't helped either; it had just provided visual proof that there was, in fact, a solution to how pent-up and horny I was feeling.

I just wanted to get off, and my mind and body were pretty clear on who could help with that. It had taken all the willpower I could muster not to decide to just stop by the art studio to see if she was there.

But now, practically dying in the middle of my fourth set in the squat rack, I was really glad I'd done this instead. The physical exertion and the exhaustion in my muscles didn't leave much room for anything else in my brain, and I needed the reprieve.

I finished the set, racking the weight. I was feeling pretty good about myself -- another half hour of this, maybe, get some dinner, and I could check in on Lauren's progress. Maybe bring her a bottle of wine. For all that I still felt furious with Viv, I really appreciated how Lauren had dropped everything to help me. Maybe the coven wasn't so b-

"Wow. I'm a little surprised you even work out."

I whirled at the voice from behind me.

It was Brooke. The young werelioness. One of the ones who'd tried to kidnap me.

She was dressed for the gym, in a sporty little outfit: matched bright red sports bra and leggings set, long blonde hair up in a ponytail. It didn't look like she'd started working out yet, though; maybe she'd just gotten here.

Her green eyes regarded the weight on the bar derisively. "But this doesn't even count as a workout. Is this your warmup?"

I could feel the tiny bit of patience and mental focus I'd built over the last half hour immediately beginning to erode. "I don't have time for this right now," I said.

She looked me over more closely and laughed. "Wow. You look worn out. Having a bad day, or is that just from lifting this baby weight?"

"And yet I choked you out, remember? Oh, maybe you don't, seeing as how you were unconscious and all. You should tap next time." I rolled my eyes. "Now. I'm going back to my baby weights. Have a nice evening."

I turned away from her.

"You got lucky," she muttered.

I could feel the last of my patience withering up and disappearing. This had been the wrong evening to run into Brooke again.

Slowly, I turned back around. "No, I fucking didn't."

"You did," she insisted. "It wouldn't happen again."

"Oh, really?" I said. "Let's find out, then. There are wrestling mats upstairs. Rematch. Right now."

She looked taken aback, like she hadn't expected me to actually suggest that, but then settled into a stony determination. "Fine. Great."

"Give me a minute to unrack my baby weights and then I'll be up. This time, tap before you go unconscious, okay?"

She bared her teeth, turned, and walked away. "See you in a minute, then."

Honestly? I was glad she had showed up.

First, unless she'd somehow done a Matrix-style instant-download of martial arts in the last thirty six hours, there was no way in hell a rematch was going to end any differently. Maybe this would finally shut her up.

Second, I was now angry and irritated enough that I wasn't thinking at all about Elana or the fact that my orgasms were locked away under her control -- which had been the whole point of coming to the gym anyway.

... Although my raging libido was still active enough that I watched Brooke's pert butt flex in those leggings as she went up the stairs.

---

Ten seconds in, it became apparent that Brooke did not, in fact, have access to the technology available in the Matrix.

She charged at me, trying for a takedown.

I shifted a little so that her head went under my armpit, and snapped on a guillotine choke so tight that it would've given the ghost of Marie Antoinette flashbacks.

Brooke tapped seconds later, snarling at me. "Again."

I shrugged. "Your funeral."

This time I let her land the takedown, putting her in my guard and taking the opportunity to work on my leg triangle. I sunk my legs around her neck and one shoulder, making some tweaks and adjustments to lock it in tight.

It was textbook. I wished my coach were here to watch this; he'd always said my leg triangles looked a little sloppy.

Actually, a few people were watching us from the doorway, I realized -- probably Brooke's pridemates. A guy and two women, all three of them college-age. I gave them a cheery little wave as the leg triangle did its work. One of the women winced as Brooke tapped again, and they all wandered away, perhaps recognizing that the only thing that was going to happen here was watching a werelion's ego take a beating.

Brooke got back to her feet, looking livid. "You're only able to do this because I'm not using my claws and teeth," she growled.

I glanced at her nails -- which were long, manicured, red nail polish that precisely matched her workout attire. I wondered what that meant -- could she just use them like a lion's claws? Could she grow lion claws in her human form?

But I just gave her a satisfied smile. "True, I'm sure. It's kind of embarrassing to have to resort to that to beat a mere human, though, isn't it?"

She lunged at me again.

This time I caught her in an armbar. "These--these are just cheap tricks," she spluttered, as she tapped.

"You wouldn't be saying that if I had torn your arm off just now," I noted.

She snarled, and came at me again.

This time, I took my time. I let her take me down, practicing a few tricks from guard.

And then I transitioned to her back, wrapping my legs over hers from behind, and sank in another choke from behind -- the same one I'd caught her with when she'd been trying to kidnap me.

She struggled, aggressively. And she was strong. But it wasn't the kind of thing you could struggle your way out of without some actual technique, and she didn't have any.

"Tap instead of going to sleep this time, okay?" I said in her ear.

She bucked her hips wildly a few times, but I locked my legs around her, using my hips to flatten her out on the ground.

And then -- in an instant, bizarre shift -- she froze, stopping her struggling. Tapped out.

I released her, and she scrambled a few feet away, turning around to face me.

For a moment, I wondered if she was having some kind of trauma response, and I had a stab of guilt. Maybe putting her in the same choke I'd used to render her unconscious had been a little much.

Then I saw her face. She didn't look traumatized, she looked... embarrassed, maybe?

Oh.

She'd been able to feel my cock against her.

Just like Diana had, in that position.

I wasn't hard -- although at the realization that she'd felt me against her, I felt a surge of arousal. But with my big, newly-magically-enhanced cock, she'd probably felt it anyway, even soft.

I reveled in the knowledge that I had her off balance. She'd been such a bitch to me when I ran into her the other day. Talking about how I'd gotten lucky to beat her in Lauren's apartment, talking about how I was a two... pump...

Suddenly, I realized that I had a real opportunity to prove a point.

A very specific opportunity that might not present itself again, if Lauren actually found a way to free my orgasms from Elana's control.

"See? Beating you the first time was not a fluke," I said.

"Alright, I get it, you win." She said the words a little sullenly, green eyes avoiding mine, pride clearly wounded... but also, equilibrium clearly flustered.

"You know, you were talking all kinds of shit when I ran into you on campus yesterday," I noted casually. I stayed seated on the mat, but shifted my body to face her, elbows on my knees.

"Yeah, I guess I was," she muttered.

"I mean, let's see... you said I'd just gotten lucky to catch you in the choke in Lauren's apartment, right? And you were wrong about that... so what else was it you said?" I put puzzlement in my voice.

"W-whatever," she mumbled. But she glanced at my groin, again. Her face was red in a way that had nothing to do with the exertions of sparring.

"Oh, right." I was enjoying myself immensely. "I remember now. You said I was a quick cummer."

She made a small sound in her throat. Maybe embarrassment, maybe agreement, maybe just acknowledgement.

"Think you're wrong about that, too?" I said the words quietly, looking at her. She'd pulled her knees up to her chest; it emphasized how small she was. And she still didn't look at me.

But she was obviously mustering whatever shreds of defiance she still had. "... Nah, I-I stand by that one. You probably blow your load super quick."

I laughed. Genuine, delighted laughter.

Brooke looked taken aback, then annoyed. "Ugh. Just because you're good at grappling doesn't mean you can..."

I shrugged. "You're wrong. But, I mean, if you're so sure, it'd easy to test, if you want to. Right now. Unless you're worried you'll be wrong. Again."

I gave her my cockiest smile. Knowing my orgasms were locked away by a gorgon gave me an unbridled confidence in my staying power I'd never felt before.

It was kind of awesome.

She didn't have much of a poker face, and I watched her emotions play out in real time.

Her ego was clearly bruised. She was looking for ways to regain some measure of pride.

I could tell she was attracted to me, too. Maybe it was hot to her that I was a decent grappler.

But most importantly: she clearly thought I was full of shit.

I would be so happy to let her try to prove that.

We were alone up here. It was the early evening, on a week night, in the middle of the summer. It was unlikely that anyone else would stop by, unless it was one of her packmates.

And I decided it was fine with me if one of them saw us.

Even as I thought all of that, I could see her mind settle on this as the best of all worlds. She'd get to play with me, see the big cock she'd just felt against her ass, and she'd get to reestablish her own dominance.

Her chin jutted up, pridefully. "If you were inside me, I bet you'd cum in ten seconds." Her green eyes met mine for the first time in a while, challenging.

"Wow," I said, as if I was impressed. "Think so? That'd be even faster than how quickly I tapped you out, just now."

She glared at me.

"But wouldn't it be funny if that's not what happened?" I added, as if it was an afterthought. "I mean, what if you, just like... couldn't get me off? Might be kind of embarrassing for you."

Smoothly -- with a startling grace that was absolutely catlike -- she leapt atop me, straddling my lap as I sat on the ground.

"That's not what will happen," she whispered, in my ear. "I'm going to get you off quick."

Well, my cock liked that quite a lot. I had already been getting hard from seeing the direction this was heading, and I could feel it get even harder at her closeness, the way Brooke's tight little body sat in my lap.

I put my hands on her hips, pushing her down against my cock. She squirmed, grinding on it.

"Like how my cock feels?" Fuck, her body was toned. I could feel her abs under my fingers as my hands wrapped around her waist.

"It's nice, yeah" she said, letting out a satisfied little sigh. She lifted her hips up and, struggling a little, yanked my shorts and briefs down and out of the way.

She stared, openmouthed, at the thick length of my erection. It was incredibly gratifying.

But then her gaze sharpened again and she looked back up. "But guys always think size matters the most; stamina is more important, big guy."

She stood up, her diminutive form momentarily looming above me, and stripped her shoes and leggings off. I kicked my shorts and briefs the rest of the way off, and stared at the view -- lean, muscular thighs, skin that was shaved bare, and the hint of her pussy, peeking out, glistening a little.

It was my turn to stare. "You're, uh... really fit..." I said the words automatically.

She nodded as she lowered herself down again. "I cheerlead," she murmured in my ear. "Gotta be strong and light if you want to get thrown around..."

I could feel her body heat, now. For being so small, her presence was so... physical. She smelled like clean sweat and something more, animal and heady.

"Is that what you're gonna do with me, Matt? Throw me around?" She bit my earlobe, then my neck. She did it gently enough, but there was certainly a threat behind it, and I moaned. Fuck.

And then she sank down on me. There was considerable resistance as I parted her, but it didn't slow her down; if anything, she seemed to enjoy that, letting out a low growl in the back of her throat.

I groaned. She felt incredible. Slick and tight around me, her small body moving smoothly atop me as she slid me further inside her.

In a normal situation, the fact that I knew she was trying to make me cum, was hoping I blew my load fast, would've been more than enough to get inside my head.

Hell, knowing the stakes alone -- that if I did cum quickly, she'd undoubtedly be telling all her friends about it, and I'd never hear the end of it any time I ran into one of the lions -- would've had me struggling to control myself immediately.

The combination of all of it was easily enough to make me cum. Hell, I felt close to cumming.

But I knew I couldn't cum. Not for Brooke, anyway.

She, of course, didn't know that. She looked down at me, satisfaction written all over her face.

She bounced on me a few times, looking down at the sounds I was making. "You seem close," she whispered, looking expectant. "I can't wait to tell everyone what a quick cummer you are."

"You feel amazing, keep going." I reached up with one hand, palming one of her breasts, a pert handful, running my fingers over the hard bud of a nipple through the fabric of her sports bra.

Pride, and then an affronted challenge flickered across her pretty face. "Oh, I will. I'll ride your big cock until you fucking lose it for me."

And then started to ride me in earnest.

And she certainly knew how to use her hips, gyrating and bouncing, in a way that emphasized just how thick I was, and just how small she was. She grabbed one of my hands, guided it to one of the round globes of her ass. She leaned back, putting the long lines of her abs on display, the mounds of her tits.

"Like the view? A pretty little cheerleader riding you?" The words came out bratty, a little taunting. "When you cum, I'm going to tell everybody what a loser you are, how fast you blew your load for me..."

Again, the view, the sensations, the words all of it -- would've gotten me off, easily. I could tell that's what she was going for.

It would've worked, if I could get off for anyone besides Elana.

So she just kept going, and I enjoyed it, enjoyed her working hard to get me off.

And then, at some point -- two or three minutes in, maybe -- it was apparent that what had started mostly as a performance, an attempt to get me off, was turning into something else.

Her eyes were lidded, now. Her movements on top of me became slower; there was less bouncing, more grinding.

"Mmmm..." She let out moan. I could hear a little embarrassment in it -- embarrassment and surprise, perhaps both at my stamina and at her own response to it.

I pulled her down so that she was less upright. Her body was leaning over mine, now, her face inches from mine. "You're so wet," I murmured.

She let out another little moan. "Oh -- Y-you're... you're not..."

I didn't know what she was going to say. Maybe an observation about how I wasn't going to cum. Maybe it was going to be some dig about how I wasn't very good in bed.

I didn't let her finish. My ego and my cock both agreed that I'd let her be in charge for long enough. I flipped her, putting her on her back against the mats, me on top of her.

And then she let out a loud, overwhelmed groan as, without any further preamble, I started fucking her, hard.

"I'm not what?" I hissed the words into her ear. The only other sound was the slap of my skin against hers.

She couldn't respond, couldn't form words.

Instead, she whimpered, her eyes rolled back in her head, and I felt a gush of fluid against my groin as she lost control.

That, too, might've been enough to make me lose control with her -- but as I'd come to expect, it wasn't enough. Not quite.

And so I fucked her through a wet, whimpering orgasm. She clutched at my back, gasping wordlessly, as my body slammed home into hers.

"Did you like that, Brooke?" I kept going, pounding her hard, waiting for her to talk shit. Or to ask me to stop, to slow down. To say anything.

But when she'd gathered herself, she just looked down between her thighs, at my cock pistoning into her.

And then she growled, low and sensual, in the back of her throat. Her green eyes met mine, and she uttered a single word.

"More." There was an odd, pleading note in her voice.

Well, I was happy to oblige. I gave her more.

It was impressive, for such a small woman. I was being rough with her -- uncharacteristically so, for me -- but she clearly welcomed it, loved it. The room was filled with the sound of me railing her, the slap of my flesh against hers, the wet sound as I thrust inside her, my grunts, her moans.

I could tell another orgasm was building inside her. There was a kind of trembling in her body, like a rubber band pulled to its maximum tension. The only question was whether it would break, or snap back with a vicious recoil.

And then, like the hard pounding she was taking demanded it from her, needed an outlet, she slid her hands up under my shirt, and raked her nails down my back.

Did I mention she was strong? It was savage enough to draw blood, I was sure; lines of stinging pain blossomed down my back.

I let out a grunt of surprised pain; she looked pleased with herself. Enough of that, I thought. I pulled out briefly, and flipped her over, pinning her stomach-down to the mat underneath me.

And then I shoved my cock back inside her, and with one hand on her neck and one on her back, I resumed fucking her, enjoying the way my hips pushing up against her pert ass felt, her groan as I reentered her.

God damn, my back hurt where she'd clawed me. This all felt so aggressive, so out of control -- but I wanted it, and I could tell, so did she. She snarled, and then twisted to look back at me, lust and excitement all over her face.

I felt the a taunting grin form on my face. "You love getting pinned down and taking my cock, don't you, Brooke?"

"S-shut up," she moaned.

For a moment I thought she'd try to bite me. But a few more thrusts and I watched her body go taut, again, trembling.

I could tell what was about to happen. That she was trying to hold it back, but losing the battle.

It sent my ego soaring, through the roof.

I slapped her ass and, leaning forward so my weight was on top of her and my mouth was next to her ear, I whispered, low and urgent, "I thought you were supposed to make me cum, Brooke..."

She didn't respond. Instead, started muttering to herself, under her breath, with each thrust into her. "O-oh fuck. Fuck, f-"

The last word ended in an abrupt, wail, almost a shriek, as her eyes rolled back in her head, and I felt her body go limp with pleasure underneath mine.

---

"That... that was... um, wow. J-just wow." Brooke mumbled the words out.

She'd dressed again, and she was standing by the door. She looked dazed and embarrassed, pleased and satisfied, all at once. Her face was flushed and sweaty, her hair was a mess. I was sure she had some friction burns from being fucked against the floor mats.

I grinned at her. "Just glad we can put the gossip about my stamina to rest now, can't we?"

She blushed and nodded, lamely. "I-I uh, gotta go. I'll... see you around, though, I'm sure." She gave me a final look over her shoulder, complicated emotions playing across her face, and then left.

I just nodded. I was still recovering my breath. I felt wrung out, sore all over. My back was on fire; I was probably bleeding through my shirt.

That had been great. Absolutely worth it. But the sense of smug satisfaction I felt was fading. I was still rock hard. I needed to get off, even more urgently, now. I felt like a levee that was about to break.

I lay there, gingerly stretching, trying to let my erection subside.

It took a long time.

But eventually, I slowly gathered myself, and headed down the stairs towards the exit. Probably a good time to go check on Lauren; hopefully she'd had a breakthrough or at least made some progress. Or maybe I should risk it, and just go to Elana for some relief.

That last thought stopped me in my tracks completely.

It wasn't just the thought itself; it was how reasonable it felt, in the moment. Like an option I was seriously considering -- against my better judgment.

I sighed. I needed to get this fixed, fast.

I was going, I told myself, to check on Lauren's progress. Not to Elana.

I glanced at my phone, I now had a missed call from Diana. She'd left me a voicemail.

"Hey, Matt. Haven't heard from you since last night, so figured I'd call and make sure you're, y'know, okay. Also... I could use some power, for a project I've been working on in my spare time, so if you wanted to see some of those toys I was talking about last night... well, just call me back."

I could hear the crooked half-smile on her face as she said it. I realized I had a lot to catch her up on; between the fight with Viv this morning, and how scattered and distracted I felt, I hadn't talked to her since last night.

I was just about to hit the button to call her... and then, as I rounded the corner and headed down the final flight of stairs, I made eye contact with Clint. He was leaning up casually against a wall, between me and the exit doors.

Oh, shit.

He loomed. He was wearing a polo and slacks that I was sure were sized quite large, but his muscles were bulging enough that both were tight.

I had no doubt that if he wanted to twist my body into a pretzel, he could.

At least I was already holding my phone -- and the emergency escape spell that it contained. Yeah, we had a truce, but I wasn't sure that the truce covered me fucking members of his pride of lions.

"Hi, Clint," I said, guardedly.

"Matt." He inclined his head towards me. "I hear you've been putting Brooke through the wringer. I hope there's no bad blood after her error in judgment a few days ago."

His oddly-accented voice was level, the tone even.

I mentally said a prayer that through the wringer referred to the jiu jitsu.

"Yeah. No. I mean, yeah, we were, uh... grappling. Sparring, you know. No bad blood, though." I paused, and added, "You, uh, probably ought to make her take some wrestling classes or jiu jitsu or something. She's strong, but..." I trailed off into a wince, leaving the sentence unfinished. I had no idea whether he would perceive an insult to one of the other lions as an insult to him.

But he just snorted. "I cannot make her do anything. You misunderstand my relationship with the more junior pride members. I am neither her father nor her mate, thankfully. Believe me, if I were, she would behave quite differently."

I relaxed a little bit at neither her father nor her mate.

"And she wouldn't get choked unconscious by a human," Clint added, as an afterthought. "Maya mentioned it. Very deft of you."

I shrugged. "I've got training; Brooke does not. If she had been trying to kill me, I'm sure she might have. Maya didn't have any trouble putting me on my ass."

Clint eyed me. "No doubt. Come with me. We are overdue to have a talk."

I imagined to refuse would be insulting, and anyway, he was being polite. So I just nodded.

He led me through the athletic complex, into the part of the building that held offices for the coaches, trainers, and others who worked on the university's various athletic programs. He threaded his way purposefully into what must be his office.

It was an interesting, eclectic space. There were sports trophies, photos of teams I assumed he'd coached, and other, similar memorabilia -- a signed baseball. A jersey, framed on one wall, also signed. A whiteboard stood in one corner, some football plays diagrammed out on it.

But there were other things scattered about the office that seemed unrelated to sports. An odd, yellowing jawbone on his desk, currently serving as a paperweight. A wall hanging, that depicted a stylized sunrise in oranges and reds, though it was old and the colors had faded.

He sat behind his desk, and gestured for me to sit across from him. Then he reached into a file cabinet, and pulled out an ornate-looking decanter with a tawny liquid in it, and two glasses. He set them on the desk, and started poured a finger into each glass, carefully.

I sat down in the chair opposite him, uncertainly.

As he poured, he spoke. "When I last saw you -- at the witch's apartment, the other night -- you looked, quite understandably, like a man who has just realized that he is being hunted. Who now understands that the night is full of predators, and that every crack of a branch, rustle in the brush is a threat." He regarded me with interest. "But now, you look instead like a man who is caged. Trapped."

Well, that was an astute observation, and summarized the situation nicely. I was suddenly glad he'd poured drinks. I reached for the glass in front of me.

But he held up a hand, forestalling me. "Wait a moment while I tell you what you're about to drink."

He lifted his own glass, inspecting it, and then took a careful, deliberate sip.

"This is an old recipe, passed down amongst our pack for generations. Difficult to brew; it recipe is a secret, but know that it requires fermenting some things that are both hard to come by, and challenging to ferment."

"Its name is... complicated, for humans to pronounce. But it translates roughly as the Savannah's Truth. Once you drink it, you can only speak the truth; you can leave thoughts unsaid, but you can only express true beliefs. The pride has always found it useful in situations where honesty matters and might not be taken for granted."

He gave me that same level stare. "The effects of this amount will last about half an hour. I tell you this in advance, because if you do not want to, you do not have to partake. I shall drink regardless, so that you might trust what I have to say more. Although I would be grateful if you drank as well. It will give us both confidence that we are being honest. I find that useful."

I considered. It was possible, of course, that he was lying to me about what it did; but I didn't see the point, exactly. He could've just lied and said it was whiskey or brandy or something. Or just said nothing; I'd been about to drink it anyway.

And I didn't have to tell him anything.

So I lifted the glass, and took a sip.

The drink was the color of dark honey, and it did have a sort of syrupy consistency, but its flavor was much more herbal and floral than I expected. It was good, if slightly bitter.

Nothing felt different, exactly.

"Thank you," I said, trying to be diplomatic. "I believe what you say about its effects; I think it will be useful for both of us to know we are trying to be honest with each other."

He nodded an acknowledgement, and then leaned forward, big hands steepling in front of him. "As I said, you look caged. Like perhaps there is a part of yourself locked away. It is your business, of course, but... is this something the witches have done to you?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Good. Did it happen here? On the university grounds?" There was an odd intensity to his voice.

I hesitated, but then shook my head. It hadn't -- the art gallery was just off-campus.

He sighed, rueful. "Ah. Well. Then I'm afraid it isn't covered by the terms of our truce; it would be one thing if it had happened on our territory."

"Fair enough." Too bad.

He eyed me speculatively, taking another swallow of the drink. "Perhaps we could still help, though. Tell me, Matt -- what do you hope to achieve here, in the next few years? With your power?"

I shrugged, uneasily. "I..." I could feel the truth in me, now, knew that my only options were speaking true, or remaining silent.

I opted for speaking the truth, as confused as it was. "Clint, I don't know. I met my first witch last Friday. I've barely had time to get my bearings. Mostly my goals are to avoid getting kidnapped or..." I thought of Elana's eyes, and shivered, reflexively. "... or worse."

His mouth twisted at the kidnapping mention. "Reasonable," he agreed. "But eventually you'll need to decide what you want. What it looks like to build something, instead of just surviving."

There was an eagerness in his voice now that was uncharacteristic of him. "And if you worked with us more closely, more directly, we'd help you. Protect you."

I blinked. "What would that mean, exactly?"

"The witches will use your power, to fulfill their side of our deal with us. But they will skim off the top, take power for their own uses. If you deal with us directly, we will benefit. We would repay that benefit in any number of ways. Perhaps, for starters, we could address your current... ailment, in return for you coming to us directly with your power. We have ceremonies that address such things."

I remembered that he was bound to tell me the truth. "What do you think of the witches, Clint? Truly."

"I like them," he said, frankly. "We are fortunate they are on our territory. I asked about your goals. My goal -- my singular goal -- is to build a strong pride here, one that will continue to thrive long after I am bones and dust. It is a hard road."

He paused as if considering his words carefully. "I like the witches because their goals are the same as ours. The magical world is mostly full of solitary creatures. They think only of their own appetites, their selfish desires. Viv has been dealt a difficult hand. She is young. Ambitious. Often foolhardy. But at the end of the day, she is doing her best to achieve essentially the same thing I am."

I considered that silently for a moment. He added, "So I wish her and the coven success. Just not at the expense of the pride's success."

Then, the expectation of an answer clear in his voice, he said, "Why? What do you think of the witches?"

I did feel like I owed him a response, but wasn't sure how detailed I wanted to get, here. "They've done their best to help me. I like them."

He gave me a smile, like he knew that I was evading through omission. "And of Viv, specifically?"

"I like her. I..." I knew the truth, but spent a moment searching for the right words to express it to Clint. "I am trying to decide how different Viv is -- and, no offense, how different you are, Clint -- from those solitary creatures you mentioned. I'm not a witch or a werelion. I am not interested in only being someone's tool to achieve their goals. And I wonder whether they can really protect me."

I thought of Elana's eyes, again.

Clint was nodding. "I understand. You are being careful. That is wise." Then he smiled, grimly. "And it will only get worse, you know. Everything in the desert gathers at the oasis. Predators and prey alike need water. So when a young gazelle arrives to take a drink, they all take notice."

I took offense. "I'm not some prey animal--"

But Clint cut me off. "You misunderstand. You are not the gazelle. You're the oasis."

I lapsed into silence. He was saying the witches were gazelles.

I didn't like that thought, very much.

My phone pinged, and I glanced down at it.

A text from Diana, now: hey, I'm starting to get worried. If I don't hear from you in the next hour I'm going to assume you're in real trouble.

Shit. I should probably have sent her a message sooner.

Clint saw my distraction, and said, smoothly, "Ah. But you're a busy man, Matt. This was a good talk. Please consider whether we can be helpful with your current problem, and come find me if we can. Either way -- I wish you luck escaping your cage."

I recognized the end of the conversation when I heard it. "Thanks, Clint. I'll be in touch regardless. I'm glad we talked as well."

I stood. He reached his hand out, crushed mine in that iron grip of his.

"By the way..." he said, as I turned to go. I turned back around, questioningly.

"... You're bleeding through your shirt," he noted, a wry smile on his face. "Just thought you should know."

---

"She fucking did what?" Diana's voice over the phone was incredulous.

"She, uh, made it so I can't orgasm for anybody but her." I lowered my voice as I walked past a few students headed in the other direction.

I'd called her while I walked back to the library to check on Lauren's progress and explained the situation to her.

"And you've tested it to make sure it's true?"

"Yeah." I decided that fewer details, given how she felt about Viv, were probably better.

"Ugh. Fuck. Matt, I'm really sorry. I thought she'd be trustworthy. I shouldn't have left you. We'll fix this, and then get some revenge, that's for sure." She sounded both angry and apologetic on the phone.

"Well, it... uh, it isn't exactly clear to me whether Elana did it on purpose or not, to be honest," I admitted. "The process was, uh... complicated. It might've been unintentional." Complicated wasn't really right, but I wasn't about to go into details.

... I realized that even thinking about it, about Elana, her eyes, her touch... was starting to get me hard. I started walking a little faster towards the library as if I could outrun my own arousal.

God, I needed to fix this.

"I mean, okay, that sounds fucking shady to me, though. Look, this is my fault. Do you have a plan to fix it yet?" Diana's voice was practical.

"Lauren's doing some research for me; I was just headed to check on her. And, uh, I actually just talked to Clint... you know the-"

"Yeah, I know Clint. Obviously. Everybody around campus knows Clint. He offer to help? This does seem like the kind of thing the lions would have a way to fix."

"Yeah, he did."

"Okay. Look, having Lauren look into it is great. She'll come up with something, probably. But if Lauren comes up blank, and you don't want help from the lions, I can talk to Iris. She can definitely help; she pretty much always can. The only thing is that her price tag for fixing this will probably be steep and quite weird. It always is."

I thought about the myths about fairies I'd heard, Iris trying to trade my name to her. "... Weird like I have to give her my future firstborn son?"

"Maybe, yeah. But she might also ask for your best childhood memory. Or your favorite color. Or... your sense of smell. Or one of your emotions, like your sense of wonder. Or..." Diana paused, and the words were tinged with remorse, now. "... What she asks for doesn't always make sense, but her price is always pretty high, okay? Even if it seems like something you'd be willing to part with. So it's a last resort."

"Um, okay." That did not sound like the best option here, but I appreciated that she was at least concerned and offering it. "Thanks, Diana."

"Yeah. Like I said, this is totally my fault." I could hear her contrition. "I'll make this up to you, Matt. I shouldn't have left you alone. Just... just let me know how I can help."

Well, my libido had an answer for that. But I knew it wasn't one that would help me keep from going to Elana; the more aroused I got, the more sense that seemed to make. "Uh, thanks. I'll call you back once I talk to Lauren, okay?"

---

If it had been finals week during the semester the place would be packed, but as is, the library was empty.

Which meant that, even before I got to the door of the Regalia of the Teutonic Knights and Associated Orders room, that contained the coven's little collection of magical artifacts, I could hear the indistinct sound of voices raised in argument.

As I got closer, it became clear that it was Lauren and Viv, having a somewhat heated discussion.

I hesitated outside the door, on the verge of turning around. I didn't really want to see Viv. I was mad at her, barely in control of my own emotions, my patience worn thin.

"No. I'm not going to let you propose that to him." Lauren's voice, worried.

"He should get to decide for himself if it's a step too far, Laur. I've fucked this up too much to not tell him about an option, even if it is a dangerous one." Viv.

"He doesn't know enough to-" Lauren, again, frustrated.

Well, I didn't want to walk away anymore. But I felt a little guilty for eavesdropping. So I opened the door and walked in. "What don't I know enough about?"

They both paused.

Lauren, for her part, was starting to look a little tired. Books were piled everywhere around her. She gave me a flustered smile. "Hi, Matt."

But if Lauren looked tired, Viv looked like a complete mess. Like maybe she'd been crying before I'd come in. "H-hi," she said, voice small.

I mustered the little patience I had, and put a kind -- if somewhat strained -- smile on my face. "Look, you two. Clint just found me-" I forestalled the alarmed expressions on both of their faces with a hand, and continued "... just to talk, relax. But he offered to be helpful in fixing this if I wanted to deal with them directly. What did you uncover?"

They glanced at each other. And then Lauren sighed. "Okay, look. The lions might actually be able to help; I did pursue that line of thinking a little, but we don't know enough about them and their pride's particular magic, if I'm honest with you. Clint made sure that they've got all the books with lore on werelions."

She hesitated.

Viv spoke, not making eye contact with me. "But she did come up with another option. Tell him."

Lauren spoke. "We could... uh, we could summon a succubus."

I blinked. "Like... a demon?"

Lauren nodded. "They're lust demons. They're um... well, let's just say that their nature is extremely well-calibrated to address your current problem."

"They steal men's souls by making them cum." Viv said, bluntly.

"O-oh... but... isn't the point that we want someone or something who could..." I trailed off, uncertainly. "... I feel like losing my soul would be bad, right?"

"Right," Lauren said, hastily. "The advantage is that succubi are, um, especially easy for me to summon. So we..."

"Why are they easy for you to summon?" I interrupted.

Lauren reddened. "I, uh... I'm..."

"It's kind of personal, Matt. Not relevant for the moment," Viv said. She was still quiet, but admonishing, like I'd asked Lauren an inappropriate question.

I decided to let it pass. "Okay. Sorry. Continue."

"We'd summon it bound, and make a deal with it. They feed on souls, but they like thaumaturgical energy as much as the next supernatural creature. We'd get the succubus to agree to drain you, not take your soul. They can't even typically manifest on our plane without possessing someone; the demon ought to see the chance to draw power from a thaumaturge as rare opportunity. You'd give it power that's significant and hard to come by, back in Hell. And then once the deed is done, without someone to possess, it'd vanish, back to Hell."

"That... sounds like a good plan, if it all works out that well," I said, cautiously. "What're the risks?"

"Something goes wrong when we summon it, and it arrives unbound. Then it fucks the soul out of you." Viv's voice was flat, almost expressionless.

Lauren nodded. "It's a potentially dangerous summoning."

I considered that for a minute. "How... how likely is a screw up? Have you all ever done something like this before?"

Viv looked away.

Lauren sighed. "We have done it before. Last time, we screwed it up. Look... this wouldn't be my first pick. But we'll do this to help you if you want, Matt. And I wouldn't offer that if I didn't feel confident about it this time. I... shouldn't have attempted the summon, when I did. I wasn't ready. I know more, now. A lot more."

Viv just nodded, sadly.

I paused at that. "Is that... is that why the coven is smaller than it used to be? A screwed up summoning?" Diana had alluded to it; so had Viv.

Lauren nodded as well.

"Okay..." I pursed my lips thoughtfully. "Tell me about Clint and the lions. He said they could help, but he wasn't... specific."

Lauren shrugged. "Like I said, I don't know enough. But their pride's totem is pretty powerful. What's the totem's magic like, Viv? You've been the one doing all those rituals to imbue it with more power."

Viv hesitated, then said, slowly, "The totem's nature is... well, lion-like. All about the pride. Ferocity, dominion, being a pack of apex predators. The solution from them will be something primal. Maybe some kind of animalistic sexual frenzy that gets you off? I'm not sure. It probably comes with its own risks, though."

Lauren nodded. "Even not knowing the details, Matt... a succubus has risks, but so do the lions. Clint is honorable; he's not deceptive or a liar, but the lions can be... brutal. If Maya and Brooke had kidnapped you successfully, he'd probably have gone along with it, even if he didn't know about it in advance. Going to them for help... well." She hesitated uncertainly, bit her lip. "It'd be a very particular choice."

Viv gave me a subdued smile. "But it's your choice, Matt. We'll help you summon a succubus if that's what you want; no payment or power for us needed. If you want to talk to Clint, that's okay, too. We'll support that. Maybe come with you to go to him."

She paused, and then took a shaky breath. "I'm... I'm sorry I haven't been more..." Viv trailed off, miserably, and then said, quietly, "You matter to me. Not just your power, or what you can do. You. I know that I haven't always acted like that. I'm trying to make amends."

I gave her a grateful nod. I appreciated that. But I felt like I needed to make a decision before I could put more mental energy into reconciling with Viv.

Time to make a choice. I didn't have all the facts to hand, but it felt like I had enough of them to pursue a solution.

The lions, and whatever primal ceremony they might arrange?

Viv and Lauren, and a succubus summoning?

Diana, and a deal with the fae?

---

Authors Note: The last couple of chapters have obviously been a little different from the themes/kinks that undergird most of this series. It's nice that Matt's getting to enjoy himself... but of course if he wants his power back, this won't continue!