By this point, Brist’s mind had totally surrendered to the sad, wretched truth:

He loved his kittens.

He shook and writhed between their feathers as they gleefully tickled his sides. They had gagged him with vines, so now it was all he could do to giggle and moan. The redhead was kissing his neck, licking him with her rough tongue, sensuously treating him to endless teasing samples of her talents. The brunette just looked down on him and laughed.

Aside from the gag, the crystal mage was no longer tied up. He lay there, totally unbound. Totally ensnared.

“You could escape, you know,” the brunette whispered, for what had to be the hundredth horrid time. “Could tackle us. Could stroke yourself. Could fuck me!”

He whined and giggled as the redhead tickled beneath his arm.

“But you won’t, will you?” She clapped her hands together happily. “Just keep edging, tickleslut. Just keep edging.”

Down below, in the ultimate humiliation, his hand was wrapped around his cock and gently squeezing. Never enough to come. He was willingly edging himself, willingly making himself more vulnerable. He craved their command. Craved their torture.

He knew he needed to fight. Knew he needed to escape. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that he was unbound, that he had a job to do. It didn’t even matter that the rest of his team was counting on him. Brist’s mind was abuzz with suggestions, and he was just... so... horny. Whenever he tried to stir, even just to futilely try to push one of their feathers away from his over-sensitized body, the suggestions filled him.

You promised, the suggestions whispered, honeysuckle-sweet, brushing against his mind like teasing feathers. You admitted you love it. You came. You gave in. Why not just wait a little longer? You know you don’t have it in you. Feels so right to give in. You promised.

He was tied up by his own mind. His own needy, inexperienced mind. Brist had never been mastered like this before, never even been fucked like this before. And they weren’t even letting him come.

“Silly tickleslut,” hissed the redhead in his ear, nibbling his earlobe affectionately. “He doesn’t wanna fight! He doesn’t wanna cum! He told us himself!”

And he had, Brist had to admit. And that was why he couldn’t fight back, why all he could do was lie back and laugh manically. When he’d given in and confessed how much he loved this... something in him had clicked. And now he couldn’t fight. He didn’t want to fight.

He did want to cum, though. But his kittens wouldn’t let him, and he didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to fight. So he continued to obediently edge, squirming beneath their feathers, as helpless as though he were trussed and bound.

“You’re just suuuch a fun toy!” the redhead purred. “So horny. So needy. I think you’re my new favorite, tickleslut!”

“And you’re soooo glad we found you,” the brunette cooed, and he felt her fingers dance over his cock. He trembled, but as soon as they had arrived, they vanished again.

“Mm-hm!” he whimpered. They laughed.

And he loved it. It felt so good to earn their praise, mocking as it was. He longed for more. More proof of their affections, no matter how double-edged.

“You can’t help it, can you?” The redhead gave him several long, sensuous licks over his neck. “Your mind is just drowning in sexy whispers! You’re so horny, you don’t have any friggin’ room for those nasty li’l thoughts anymore!” Her tongue lingered a little on the last lick, drawing out the agonizingly erotic sensation. “Do you?” she whispered sweetly in his ear.

“No...” he managed.

“No room for fighting,” the redhead agreed, beaming at him. “No room for thinking! No room for, um... for resisting! N-no room for... for...nnn.“

She trailed off.

And slowly, the tickling on his side came to a halt. Brist’s eyes widened, both in initial relief and a perverted sense of disappointment.

After another moment, a strange mewling sound escaped the redhead.

She was not tickling him anymore, nor was she kissing or licking with that wonderful rough tongue. She was just... lying there. He managed a glance over. To his amazement, Brist say that her eyes had gone glassy. Her plump lower lip was quivering. “Oh,” she whispered. “O-oh. Ohhh. Oh, s-sister—”

“What is it?” the brunette asked, seeming genuinely perplexed.

“Sister, I feel...” The redhead was squirming. The feather fell from her trembling fingers. “I feel h-horny. Horny!”

“Duh.” The brunette snickered. “Look at this little toy. I musta frigged myself, like, ten times!” And the slick spot on Brist’s leg could attest to it.

“N-no...” The redhead bit her lip. “I... I’m really horny. I need... need...”

Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and met Brist’s gaze. Brist swallowed.

“… cock,” she whimpered, staring him straight in the eye. “Oh, I need cock. Need cock!”

He shrank beneath her stare. That was a stare of pure hunger.

“Sister,” the brunette said warningly, “we can’t fuck him, remember? It’d spoil everything! Just make him lick you out!”

“I wanna fuck him,” Redhead whined. Brist felt her rubbing against him, actually humping his leg. “Please! Wanna fuck! Wanna fuck!“

“Sister, what’s got into you?” The brunette rolled her eyes. “Get a grip!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Brist saw the feather the redhead had dropped drift up into the air, as if under a power of its own. For a moment, he wondered if the tickling was about to resume, and felt intense relief. Then he realized that his kittens weren’t doing this.

“Mmf!” he cried, trying to warn them.

“Quiet, tickleslut,” the brunette said, grabbing the redhead by the shoulders and pushing her away from his leg. “Sis, you know this. It’s no fun when they get to come. I bet we can keep this guy for months!”

“I know,” the redhead whimpered, “but I need it now!”

The feather was moving closer and closer to its target. Brist’s eyes widened. “Mmmf!”

“Quiet, boy!” the brunette snapped, glaring at him. “I’m trying to talk to my—”

And the floating feather struck, right between her shoulder blades. It flitted onto her bare skin and started to spiral in long, long lengths. The catgirl yelped and turned around, but the feather followed her, avoiding her vision. “What the—ah—ahahaha! Heehee!”

Her arms flew behind her. The feather bobbed and drifted out of reach to tickle her rear. Her ass clenched reflexively as it teased her there, then flew back up, going for her neck. “S—heehee! Stop it! Eeheehee!”

Brist looked up in awe as one of his own mistresses was tickled in front of him. The technique was incredible, judging by the catgirl’s cries and titters. Who was doing this? And would she consider picking up where his mistress had left off?

“Heehee—no!” The brunette leaped to her feet and bolted, fleeing the floating feather. “Get awaaaAAAAH!”

The feather had slipped beneath her sole as she’d tried to bolt, and she’d fallen to the ground. She wriggled onto her back and struggled pathetically to cover herself against the feather’s attempts. But she was prone and naked, and her breasts were not exactly easy to cover with just her hands.

And now the feather was flitting downwards.

“Hee—s-stop!” the brunette squealed, clutching at her breasts with one hand and her groin with another. “S-stop that—don’t neeeeheehee!”

Brist looked on, eyes wide, as the catgirl slowly lost the battle to cover herself. Whenever the feather seemed to want to reach a particular area, she would try to cover it up. Then it would dart elsewhere, and she would immediately try to switch to covering that area. exposing the original target in the process. The feather was incessant. The feather was merciless. Finally, she was left lying in the grass and moss, rolling and wriggling back and forth in helpless ecstasy.

His view of her was blocked by a pair of pendulous breasts as the redhead rose up and straddled him. She stared down at him with wide eyes the color of pale green tree tulips. “Need it now,” she whimpered, bouncing with sheer excitement. “Need, need, need!”

As she impaled herself atop him, Brist let out a muffled scream. His cock, so long sensitized and tormented, was suddenly being bathed in pure bliss. It was heaven. It was hell. He was so overwhelmed, he almost longed to return to the tickle torture. He wanted to whine, to beg for them to go back to teasing him, to turning him into their permanent tickleslut.

Instead, his cock started to throb as his kitten’s pussy contracted around him. His screams started to get higher and higher, in time with her panted mewls.

And she was mewing as she started to get closer and closer. Her breaths were heaving. She was glistening with sweat. her ears were flattened to her sides, and her eyes were wild. “Please!” she cried, and he realized she wasn’t talking to him at all. “P-please, no more!”

But whatever she was begging for, she didn’t get it, because she only started to pant harder, to bounce faster in his lap.

Brist’s eyes rolled up into his head as he came, as he felt his cock pump pulse after pulse of cum into her tight, wet pussy. The pleasure surged through him like a desert flood, blasting away all the dryhumping, all the tickling, all the scrublands and brush of his denial. His whole mind was unable to process it.

But his condition was nothing compared to hers. She was squealing in lust. “Aah! AAAAH! Please, no mooRREEAAAAUGH!“

He felt her juices squirting all over his cock, lubricating it further. She didn’t stop. She was just babbling now, wordless as she rose up and down again and again. He cried out in tormented bliss. She wasn’t stopping. She just kept mewling.

And after a minute or so, and four more of her yowling orgasms, he began to wonder if she could do anything else.

“Mmf?” he managed, staring into her wild green eyes.

She stared back at him, purring loudly. “Mew,” she said sweetly, wriggling her hips around his shaft.

Brist blinked. He could feel his orgasm rising again, but there was something disturbing about all this. So despite all the programming in him, he reached up and delicately—his lips were still erotically sensitive and ticklish—pulled out the vine.

“Mistress?” he whispered. His voice sounded almost unfamiliar to him—so steeped had he been in his role as mute tickleslut.

She mewed again and giggled, caressing his cheek with one hand, then tickling him under his chin. He giggled and moaned, helpless against this, and for a few minutes, he couldn’t think about anything to do with resisting. His whole body was a sensitized instrument, a hair trigger.

So he just lay there as she poured pleasure into him and pumped it back out into her. Whenever he even tried to rally his thoughts, she would tickle his sides, or his face, and his mind would go blank with obedient bliss again. But it wasn’t teasing. Oh, no, she was not teasing him anymore.

Because right now, he and she were both coming. He cried out, babbling his pleasure-drunken thanks, and she just babbled. Whereas before he had been drowning in submission and tickle torture, now he was drowning in pure bliss. Every fiber of his new being told him he should reject this, should long to be teased and denied, but he couldn’t resist anything that felt this good.

He hoped it never ended.

But it finally did end. It ended with a hand on her shoulder. “Sleep now,” said a sweet, high-pitched voice. The voice was slightly breathy, and it carried a strangely familiar cadence.

The redhead’s eyes went glazed, half-lidded, and then she slumped to the ground, slipping off of his member with an audible slurping sound.

Brist blinked as the speaker came into view.

It was the catgirl who’d hypnotized him before! ‘Mew’, the one they’d been waiting for! He stared up in awe at her gorgeous freckled face, longing for her to start teasing him the way her sisters had.

Instead, she stepped aside, and a beautiful blonde woman came into view. Brist blinked again, twice. It took him strangely long to remember the name.

“T-Trys?”

* * *

Ia couldn’t even thrash anymore. She was bound too tightly. She couldn’t try to tune it out. It was infusing her whole being, now. Couldn’t even curse her captors, as she knew this would get her punished even worse.

And she most definitely.

Could.

Not.

Come.

The massive runerod buzzed loudly, filling her with intense, all-consuming need. She wasn’t even being given the chance to fake her submission anymore—Elly and her moth fairies were happily bringing her to not-orgasm after not-orgasm, with no pauses in between. She couldn’t imagine a worse torture than this.

Two of the fairies had latched onto her breasts with their arms and legs and actually straddled her nipples, using them as bizarre sex toys. Their pussies sucked her nipples in hungrily, and she gasped, staring into their wide, lusty eyes as they attained orgasm after orgasm. The sensation was slick, unbearable, and heavenly. Ia had never thought of her nipples as sex organs before, but Elly’s magic made them feel like they were.

The third fairy was flitting around her, giggling like mad. She had an enormous feather almost twice her height, and was currently using it to tickle Ia’s soles and toes. The catgirl had turned her feet into erogenous zones, and Ia gasped and whined at every little touch, every feathery caress. Just the feather alone could bring her to a hundred desperately-needed, humiliating orgasms, she knew. If only Elly would allow it. If only Elly would call her a good girl.

And then there was Elly. Elly, with her long, slender, quick fingers. Elly, with her rough tongue, her lush lips, her gleaming eyes, loud purr, and perky catlike eats that betrayed unbearable horniness—horniness that was being very much seen to. Elly, with her rough, wicked, cruel tongue.

Mistress Elly was not kissing her. Was not licking her. With one hand, she happily shoved that big, ridged runerod...

... into her own cunt, letting out a constant stream of happy moans. And Ia watched. And drooled.

“You’d like this, wouldn’t you, Ia?” Elly cooed in Ia’s ear, tickling her lobe. Ia shook uncontrollably. “You’d like this big, fat cock in you, huh?”

“Unh...” Ia’s mouth and pussy were both horribly empty. With so much pleasure everywhere else, it was an unbearable hollowness. Not tongue on her pussy. Not even a feather. No kisses on her panting lips. She was free to speak.

And, oh, the things she was saying...

“Please!” she gasped. “Oh, please, I want—I wannit! Please-please-please gimme cock!” She bucked her hips, humping the air to no avail.

Elly smirked. “Oh, no, Ia, you don’t want this cock.” The runerod exited her pussy with a sticky-wet sound, and Ia’s breath caught in her throat as it pounded back in. “This cock’ll make you come, and you don’t wanna come. Doesn’t this feel nice already?”

And for emphasis, the third fairy fluttered over and tickled her sole.

Ia couldn’t help it. She moaned. “Yeah,” she whimpered, despite knowing how bad it would screw her. And not literally. She couldn’t help herself anymore. “Feels good, feels so good...”

“I thought so!” Elly purred, giving Ia’s neck a little tantalizing lick before pulling away. She pouted her lips at Ia, as the catgirl’s lips down below drooled and dribbled with yet another orgasm. Elly’s self-control was unbelievable—the only sign she had come was the little sparkle of bliss in her eyes. Ia was desperate to feel that way. “My little Ia loves being teased, doesn’t she? She doesn’t wanna come, because coming means she’s been a good girl.” She giggled. “And she’s too smart to be a good girl!”

“Oh, Mistress, please,” Ia whimpered. She’d already given in to calling Elly ‘Mistress’, at least out loud. “Lemme come. Lemme come! Just once! I’ll be a good girl!”

“Nuh-uh!” Elly shoved the runerod into herself, gasping faintly as it visibly vibrated inside her. “You wanna feel this way forever, I bet, ’cause you’re so smart!”

Ia squirmed as the sucking at her breasts became slightly more intense. “P-please,” she whimpered. She was near tears again.

She knew what Elly wanted. Knew what would get Elly to give her that runerod. And she knew she had no other way. But she could never say it. Never, ever.

Elly let out a low moan, leaning close. She was so close her lips were touching Ia’s, just barely. Ia’s resolve rattled from the intimacy with her Mistr—with Elly. Her eyes bored into Ia’s, filling the knight’s whole consciousness. “Ia’s a smart girl,” she husked. “Ia wants to keep her head. She knows that I can fuck her brains out if I want to, mind control or no. Doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” Ia whined, “yes, yes, yes!”

“Is that what we want?”

Ia bit her lip hard. Yes, her needy pussy sang, yes, yes, gods, yes!

“See?” Elly giggled. “Ia’s a smart girl, and she doesn’t wanna be a bimbo. And only bimbos give in to stuff like this. So she’s gonna stay like this for the rest of the month!”

Month? Ia struggled to keep her calm. Trys would save her. Someone would save her.

No one cared enough to save her.

“My little Ia really proved me wrong,” Mistress Elly hissed, as Ia cried out from the tickling on her thigh. It felt heavenly. It was horrible. “I thought I could break her, but look how strong she is! She’s already held up ten minutes!”

Ten minutes? No, she’s—she’s lying! It has to have been longer! Ia screwed her eyes shut as she felt Elly’s hand barely graze her inner thigh. She didn’t know anymore. She didn’t know what time it was, how much longer she could hold out. All she knew was the torturous lust that Elly had filled her with.

“I haven’t even gotten this out yet!” Elly sang, and Ia heard her draw something out with her free hand. Ia’s eyes opened unwillingly.

Elly was holding a long, thin paintbrush.

“But I know it won’t matter,” Elly whispered confidentially, bringing the paintbrush down lower and lower. Ia’s lip quivered. “Because Ia doesn’t wanna be my bimbo, does she? She wants to be strong. A strong, tough girl who will stay here for years if she has to.” She laughed. “And she will have to, won’t she?”

Ia felt the paintbrush tickling her belly, and her spirit quailed as a host of unwelcome giggles escaped her. But the paintbrush kept climbing lower. “Please, no,” she gasped, giggling. “Heehee! Please! No!”

“Ia’s so strong,” Elly cooed, “she won’t even mind if I do this!”

And the paintbrush flicked over her pussy lips.

Ia’s eyes widened. She trembled uncontrollably. “Elly,” she whined, “please, please no. I’ll be yours! I’ll fuck you, I’ll lick you, but please, don’t—”

Elly cupped her chin in her hand and forced Ia to look her in the eye. The catgirl’s ears were perky. She was excited. Her eyes were half-lidded with pleasure, and Ia wondered if she was actually orgasming right now.

“Mistress,” she said, her voice soft and deceptively sweet.

Ia stared at her. Realized her mistake.

“Mistress,” she whispered, “please don’t do this. P-ple—heehee!” She squirmed helplessly as the fairy tickled her little toe. “Please!”

“You’re so clever and smart,” Elly cooed, leaning in. “You would never wanna be my horny bimbo. Never wanna be my whimpering slutty slave.”

“M-Mistress—” The paintbrush tickled Ia’s lips again, and she had to bite her lip hard to keep from being consumed in laughter. “I’ll l-love you!” she squealed. “Just please don’t... don’t...”

“Don’t what?” Elly giggled. “Don’t this?”

The paintbrush touched her clit.

It did not tickle. It did not move. It didn’t even rest there; it just touched the clit once, then left.

Ia could barely contain her shriek.

“I’m gonna do it,” the catgirl hissed, as the suckling at Ia’s breasts grew stronger, as the tickling of her feet grew more intense. Ia couldn’t stop laughing. “Gonna do it over and over again, and I’m gonna come like crazy watching it. ’Cause you don’t wanna be a bimbo. ’Cause you wanna stay free. And you know what?”

Ia was crying. Tears of sorrow, of despair, of denial, of laughter, of joy. “Mistress?”

Elly leaned in very, very close. “I think the reason you aren’t giving in,” she cooed, “is that you like me doing this to you. But there’s one thing you don’t know...”

And she kissed Ia. Ia leaned in to receive the kiss, helplessly horny, desperate for any attention she could get. Elly was an amazing kisser, and her tongue filled Ia’s mouth, dispelled any doubts. The kiss was heavenly. Ia’s eyes fluttered shut, momentarily lost in tormented bliss.

And at the same time, the paintbrush began to tickle her clit.

And Ia’s eyes flew open as she screamed. She screamed into the kiss, hearing Elly’s giggles, giggling uncontrollably herself as the paintbrush teased and tormented her sex, exquisite and unstoppable, unending. She writhed in her bonds, trembled in Elly’s grasp, shuddered and laughed as the tickling teased her most sensitive area without mercy.

At last, Elly pulled back, just as the tickling at her clit climbed into ecstasy. Fuck, Ia was so close. The orgasm-preventing magic was pure torture. Ia squirmed and gasped as the paintbrush worked its magic. She couldn’t even scream. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out.

Elly giggled, raising the slick, dripping runerod to Ia’s eye level. “But here’s the thing!” she said, beaming at Ia. “Only good girls get to come, and only bimbos can be my good girls. And if you don’t come... you get stupid.”

Ia’s eyelids fluttered. She was lost in denial, but Elly’s words sank into her like poison from a frog’s back, suffusing her.

“Think about it,” Elly cooed. “You’re so crazy-dumb with horniness right now, you’re screaming over a silly little paintbrush! But me?” She lowered the runerod again and shoved it into herself, moaning loudly. Performatively, even. “I get to come as often as I want!” She shook and wriggled, savoring the sensations as she slammed the vibrating toy in and out of her.. “Makes me smart. Satisfied. Feels so good.”

Even as she masturbated, the catgirl sensuously drew the paintbrush across Ia’s pussy lips in several long strokes, then returned to spiraling around the clit. Ia’s mind was in torturous fireworks.

“Say it,” Elly hissed, rising up and down on the runerod. “I get to come. That makes me smart.”

Ia hesitated only a second, and as if punishing her, the paintbrush flicked over her clit. She yelped. “You get to c-come, Mistress! M-makes—heehee—s-so smart!”

Elly smirked. “And do you get to come?”

Ia could barely even think about the words she was babbling out between giggles, but she managed to shake her head, desperate to avoid being punished again. Whatever Mistress wanted.

“And what,” Elly said slowly, “does that make you?”

Ia knew the answer to this one. “Stupid!” she squealed.

“Again.”

“Stupid, Mistress!” Ia shook all over as the paintbrush flicked several times over her clit. “Heehee! I’m sooooo stupid from—heehee—not coming! I neeheehee—nnnneed to come!”

“But how do you come, pet?” Ia shivered at the word. Something about it felt right. Elly appeared to notice her reaction, though, because she quickly went on, “Oh, sorry, Ia. I didn’t mean to disrespect you, Ia.” The paintbrush torture sped up a little. “How do you come, Ia?”

The word almost sounded more insulting than ‘pet’, the way she said it.

Ia bit her lip as the fairy flitted in front of her. The little mothlike creature’s eyes gleamed and breasts jiggled as she teased Ia’s lips with the feather, forcing her mouth open with giggles. It was torture for a second reason this time—she needed to answer Elly. Not answering Elly made her a bad girl, she knew. And for some reason, nothing scared her more.

The fairy tormented her for a few seconds, then moved back down to Ia’s sides. She knew Ia was waiting, and so immediately burst out, “O-only good girls come!”

Elly arched her eyebrows and grinned at her. She rubbed Ia’s shoulder, causing Ia to let out a soft gasp even at this little contact. “But you don’t wanna be a good girl, remember?”

Ia’s eyes widened. She desperately shook her head, lost in giggles from the tickling at her side.

“Because you’re smart,” Elly husked, leaning in and kissing Ia’s neck. “You’re strong.” She climbed up, kissing Ia’s cheek. “And you can resist all of this, right?” The paintbrush playfully danced up Ia’s belly to Ia’s lips, and Ia’s heart almost stopped with even this small relief.

“I...” She was panting, staring right into Elly’s hypnotic eyes. She was immune to hypnosis, immune to all mind control, and yet... “I...”

“Right?” Mistress Elly repeated, her voice a sultry whisper. “You don’t wanna be my good girl. You wanna be free. You want me to let you go. Isn’t that true?” And to Ia’s horror, the paintbrush reversed its journey, returning to her clit. Ia started to moan, not just in pleasure, but in plain despair. She felt Elly purring as the catgirl took her in a brief, hungry kiss—and ‘took her’ was the right phrase, because Ia was powerless to return it, to struggle, to do anything but moan and giggle and accept the sensuous touches. Elly pulled back and smiled. “You want me to free you? ’Cause I might do it, if you ask nicely.”

It took Ia what felt like hours to muster the word, and as she struggled, the paintbrush continued its torture, the fairies continued humping her needy nipples, and the third fairy flew up and started tickling the long feather around her neck. And Elly continued to smile at her—a cruel, knowing, triumphant smile.

“No,” she whimpered.

Elly leaned in and kissed her again, softly, shortly. “What was that?’ she asked, voice high-pitched and breathy, almost wispy. Ia felt her stroking the runerod over her thigh, felt it buzzing faintly. Suddenly, her leg was becoming unbelievably erogenous, and she actually cried out as Elly slowly stroked it with the dildo. “You can’t resist this?”

“No,” Ia whined. “No, no, no!” She tried to buck against the paintbrush, tears pouring from her eyes. It was humiliating. She just couldn’t take it anymore. Her mind was being sanded away, and all she cared about was an end to it all. An hour ago, she’d wished for death. Now she couldn’t even wish for that—she needed climax. “I can’t!”

Elly smirked. She took the paintbrush away from Ia’s pussy and brought it up, tracing it over Ia’s lips. Ia’s lips quivered at the slow, sensual attention. She could feel her own juices being ‘painted’ onto her mouth. “I think you can,” she soothed. “I think you can take it for hours, get even nicer and dumber for me. Isn’t that what you said? Ooh, you were so rude to me, sweetie.”

Ia felt sudden shame coursing through her, familiar and yet alien. She had upset her Mistress!

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “Sorry, sorry! So sorry! Please, Mistress!” The fairy behind her brought the feather across the nape of her neck, and her whole back arched. “Pleeeease!”

Elly giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh, but knights don’t give in to things like this!” Ia cringed. She’d tried repeating her vows to herself earlier. It hadn’t helped. Surely Elly wasn’t going to... “You said all sortsa things, babe. Really silly things. Stupid things. You hadn’t come in a while, I guess!”

“Please, Mistress, don’t make me...”

But of course Elly would. Elly was going to strip everything that made Ia Ia away from her, turn her into a docile, obedient pet. And Ia was helping her do it.

“You promised to uphold order,” Elly hissed, flicking the paintbrush beneath her bottom lip, causing it to quiver. “To resist temptation. To be a bastion of purity.”

“P-please...”

Elly waited a moment. Ia bit her lip. She couldn’t, she couldn’t...

“Well,” Elly said smugly, “guess it’s back to your naughty clitty with this—”

“No!” Ia cried. “No, please, I lied! Those vows were lies! P-please no more on my clitty!”

Mistress Elly flicked the paintbrush over Ia’s upper lip teasingly, and Ia moaned aloud at the sensation. “You promised to uphold order.”

“I lied!” Ia whimpered, hating her Mistress, hating herself. “Liedliedlied—”

The paintbrush traced down to Ia’s cleavage. “To resist temptation...”

“P-please, I give in, just gimme the runerod...”

“To resist temptation,“ Elly moaned in her ear.

“I lied! You t-tempted me, okay, Mistress?” Ia’s voice broke on the last word.

“Hee. I know I did.” Elly pulled back and stared deep into Ia’s wide, teary eyes. The paintbrush slowly circled over one breast as the moth fairy atop it happily rose up and down on Ia’s nipple. Ia trembled, knowing the final blow was coming, utterly helpless to stop herself. “You promised,” she purred, “to be a bastion of purity.”

“Fuckmefuckmefuckme—”

“But Ia!” Elly made a face of mock shock. “That doesn’t sound like something a brave knight would say!”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. Ia stared into those eyes, and saw reflected in them her own eyes. Gasping. Needy. Almost... hypnotized.

And Ia broke. She broke completely. Her will melted down as hours of built-up needs and submissions and lessons and denials cooked her brain like a marshmallow in the firepit. She melted into pure lust. She melted into obedience.

“I’m not a knight,” she panted, “not a knight, not a knight—”

The paintbrush fell away from her breast. Ia let out a shuddering sigh of relief. She didn’t care anymore. She would say whatever this horrid, wonderful creature wanted, do whatever she wanted, be whatever she wanted. She’d tried lying, tried faking it, tried denying it. Elly knew. Elly always knew.

Mistress always knew.

And then Ia felt the runerod pressing against her pussy lips. All it would take, she realized, wet and shaking like a leaf in a rainstorm, was one little shove. Just a little thrust. Anything. She stared deep into Elly’s eyes, totally lost in desire. Elly was beaming at her. That was good. It was good that Mistress was happy with.

Elly put one finger to her pouting lips, looking quizzical. “If you’re not a knight,” she said, with a thoughtful tone, “what are you, Ia?”

The runerod seemed to give a little jolt, and Ia felt her pussy’s sensitivity suddenly... spike. In a wave of lust, she registered:

Elly had been holding back this entire time.

Her eyes widened. Her pussy gushed. Her lips trembled, and she babbled for what felt like a whole minute as the fairies tickled and sucked at her, as the runerod teased her, as Elly watched and masturbated to the mere sight of her. She couldn’t even form even basic words without a struggle. Even the runerod’s slight buzzing at her entrance was heavenly, was mind-numbing. She wanted more. She wanted Elly to fuck her brains out.

And only one kind of girl could want that.

“Bimbo!” she squealed. She felt a supreme bliss fill her quieting mind as she said the word. She wanted to feel that again. “Bimbo! I’m your b-b-bimbo sluuuut wh-whore!” Oh, gods, how did this feel so good? How?

Elly smiled. “I think I’m gonna call you,” she cooed, leaning in and kissing Ia on the cheek—Ia trembled at the little contact—”Lady Comesalot. Lady Cummy, for short.”

And the runerod pushed in completely.

Ia could only scream as her systems were utterly flooded in pleasure, perfect, complete. It was pleasure mixed with a strange sense of completion she had never felt before, not with all her years of living with the alchemy, all her years of denying herself. She’d never thought of it as denial back then—she’d had sex all the time back home—but somehow, this was different. She’d never been made to submit before, never been made to feel how good it felt. Instinctively, she knew that she would never feel this good again.

Not without Elly’s permission, anyways.

The runerod buzzed and pounded in and out of her, heedless of these thoughts, incessant, merciless. Ia had been painfully close to orgasm already; now it felt like Elly was only barely holding her at the brink. It was like going years with only water droplets and suddenly having a waterfall dropped onto your head. Ia was drowning.

“This is obedience,” Elly cried, over Ia’s screams. “This is what it feels like to be a good girl! You always wanna be a good girl, right?”

“Yes!” Ia squealed. “Yes!”

Elly’s eyes glittered in delight. “Then you’ll help me capture and brainwash your friends?”

Ia was so close. So close. So close.

“Yes!” Ia blubbered. “Yes-yes-yes-YES!” She would do anything to keep from being a bad girl, she knew now. Elly would hold her like this for years if she had to. Elly was too smart for her. Elly got to come whenever she liked, and that made her so, so smart. Ia was just a bimbo.

A bimbo who had been a good girl. And that was all she needed to be.

“Names,” Elly cooed.

“B-Brist,” Ia cried. “Dark skin, crystal mage. Trys, b-blonde, honey addict. Yathi! Yathi! She’s—oh, fuck, so hot... almost as hot as you...” Oh, if only Mistress could capture Yathi and Brist. Then it would be heaven. Parts of Ia wanted to feel guilty for these thoughts, but no part of her truly did. She was a bimbo. She was stupid. It wasn’t her fault. She just wanted to be with Yathi and Brist and Mistress and get fucked out of her brains—”

“Actually,” Elly whispered, “I think Trys is a redhead; isn’t that right?”

Ia’s mind struggled to function. She was barely holding on. “N-no,” she said, confused. “She’s... oh, she’s...” She wiggled her hips against the runerod, practically purring with pleasure. “... she’s blonde—”

Abruptly, the runerod pulled out, still dripping with her juices.

And just like that, Ia’s world melted away. Emptiness filled her formerly full cunt. The fairies started teasing her again on her feet and breasts.

“Bad girl,” Elly said, shaking her head.

Ia stared into Elly’s eyes, horrified, as she felt the paintbrush start flicking over her lips again. “No,” she cried. “Heehee—n-no! Pleeease, no!”

Elly eyed her for a moment, almost frowning. Ia felt a strange pain course through her at that look. She never wanted Mistress to look at her that way again. At last, Mistress sighed, and leaned in to gently kiss her. “Good girls,” she murmured, “always say yes!”

Ia blinked. Her eyelids fluttered. She couldn’t help but giggle, but her gaze never left Mistress’s. She wanted it to be clear she was paying attention.

Mistress smiled sadly. “See how dumb you are? You hardly ever get to come, and now you’ve somehow convinced yourself she’s blonde! Poor confused bimbo.”

Ia felt her world falling from beneath her feet, and as she was suspended in the air right now, this was quite a feeling. She drifted in space, her head spinning. She felt the fairies suckle her nipples with their wet cunts, felt the feather tickling her shoulderblades mercilessly, making her shoulders reflexively buck and struggle, and felt, of course, the horrid, exquisite tickling at her clit that drove out all other thought.

Even as she tickled Ia’s clit, Mistress kissed her again, hard, passionate, soft and long. Despite her state, Ia struggled to think.

Trys was blonde. She was a honey addict! Right? Surely Mistress was mistaken.

But Mistress got to come all the time. How could she be wrong when she was so smart? How could Ia be right when she was just a stupid, horny bimbo?

At last, Mistress Elly pulled back, grinning at her. “So, Trys was a redhead, right, sweetie? Super-pretty crimson hair?” She tossed her blonde hair back with a coy wink. “Which is a shame, ’cause you’ve always loved blondes.”

Ia shook, both in mind and body, the last vestiges of free thought trying in vain to assert themselves against a windstorm that could rip whole oaks from the soil. “B-but... honey addict, Mistress...” Her voice was pathetically small. Questioning, even—like she was begging to be proven wrong. “She’s a h-honey addict...”

“Mead addicts’ hair turns red, silly. Like burnt honey.” Mistress Elly’s voice sounded so reasonable. It made sense, didn’t it? And her voice was so reasonable. So reasonable and sweet and pretty and soft. The paintbrush flicked against Ia’s clit a bit faster, making Ia giggle. She felt the fact sinking into her head, like a stone sinking through molasses. How could she refuse Mistress Elly?

Maybe Trys had been redhead.

Flick.

Yes, Ia was pretty sure she had, in fact! She sort of remembered now...

Flick.

And Mistress would know. Mistress Elly was so smart. Mistress Elly got to come whenever she—

Flick.

Ia squirmed and writhed in her bonds. “P-please, Mistress!” she cried, her voice positively a moan. “She was a redhead! You were so right! Forgive this stupid bimbo! Please let me come s-so I can be smart like you!” She fixed Mistress Elly with a look of pure adoration, hoping against hope. Surely Mistress Elly would be kind. Oh, please let Mistress be kind...

Mistress Elly giggled. She petted Ia’s hair, like one might pet a beloved pet. Ia leaned into her touch, nuzzling the hand eagerly. “Oh, you’re always gonna be a dumb bimbo. I’m only gonna let you come when you’re a good girl, and we both know you’re really dumb at being one of those!”

“Yes, yes—heehee—yes...”

“You’ll need me to take care of you, I think! Forever!” Mistress’s smile turned smug. Almost a bit cruel. But then the paintbrush pulled away, and Ia felt the girth of the runerod buzzing against her inner thigh, and Ia could no longer remember how to say no to her Mistress. Mistress was too smart for her. “Won’t you?”

And Mistress Elly’s voice was so sweet, so loving, Ia could only stare deep into her eyes and feel the sparkle leave her own. Good girls always say yes. Good girls get to come. Dumb bimbos never get to come, so they stay dumb bimbos. If I get smart, I can... I can... I can be a good girl, and then I can come. I can be a good, dumb bimbo, and I can come, and I can get smart, and I can... can come...

“Yes,” she squeaked. “Always yes!”

Elly beamed at her. “Good girl.”

And she shoved the runerod in. “Time for Lesson Two.”

And pure, perfect pleasure consumed Ia’s mind.

* * *

Okino, the fair, dark-haired former captain of the elite strikeforce of knights sent to infiltrate and bring down a Thriae hive from within, stumbled down the hallway clad in only a towel. His cock was tingling with an almost agonizing need. He had just been fucking a psychopomp, and the pleasure still echoed through him every now and then.

The captain’s head swam. Gods, he was so fucked. Ytheri’s crazed games were his only shot, and he knew by his gut that she was not going to play fair. He had to find the exit. Had to find a door, a window, a... anything.

The hallway was mostly empty save for the strange items that lined its walls. Okino still wasn’t sure what they were, exactly, but a very persistent voice told him that they were just spice racks, and of no real import, and that voice was sweet and smart and kind and perfect. His eyes glazed over them. Nothing to see.

Ytheri didn’t light many lamps, and Okino was having some trouble finding his way in the darkness. He nearly tripped over the spice racks twice, in fact. So it was to his relief that he spotted a warm glow coming from up ahead.

Okino stared, squinting. Yes. It was a light. His heart sang with relief. Adrenaline filled him, blotting out caution. A light! At last, a window! He hurried towards it, and as he went, he noticed the air growing warmer as well. It was daytime outside! Perhaps he hadn’t lost too much time after all! He could get out, he could rejoin the others, and he could still salvage the mission!

But it’s not an exit, whispered a sibilant voice in his mind. I’ll never leave this place, never leave Ytheri. I never want to leave Ytheri. He pushed the voice back down as he came to the hallway corner where the light was coming from. His head was buzzing with excitement.

His nose twitched. He... smelled something. Something pleasant. And his heart sank as he recognized it.

It was the glorious, delectable smell of spicy mead.

He had come to an open archway leading into what looked like some sort of kitchen. Unlike the hallway, which was covered in soft black carpeting that matched the walls, this room’s floor bore a colorful spiraling tile mosaic. It made him a bit dizzy when his eyes lingered on it too long.

The source of the light he had become so unreasonably hopeful for was, in fact, several strange golden balls hanging from the high black ceiling, each varying in size from the size of his head to the size of a small mastiff. Looking closely at them, Okino could almost swear he saw creatures writhing inside those orbs. Writhing humanoid shapes, contorting in passionate embrace.

He tore his eyes away, heart filling with dread, and stared across at the fireplace. A chimney. So there was an exit.

But in front of it, directly blocking his vision, was a large, perky ass wiggling back and forth. His eyes followed those wide hips upwards, tracing the curves, to a narrow waist and a large, pronounced bust. Their owner was facing away from him, but he could tell that the only thing she was wearing was a lacy blue apron. Her hair was long, golden, and curly, and it bounced in time with her breasts as she danced in place.

The wasp-waisted blonde was stirring something on the woodstove, humming a cheery tune.

The humming hadn’t reached him instantly. He hadn’t noticed it as he’d come up the hall, but now Senya realized it had always been there. It had seeped in. Buzzing. Staticky. Listening to it too intently made him dizzy. So did tuning it out. Senya swayed slightly, as his mind slowly pieced together what the gorgeous woman in front of him meant.

The Thriae. His eyes widened, even as he swayed in place. The woman who had tickled and teased him when he’d been ordered to stay still, the woman who had fucked him in his sleep earlier.

The gorgeous creature whose humming was filling his mind with gooey nonsense.

Thoughts spun into his head unbidden. He desperately tried to shut them down, but the gooeyness was just seeping into him,pervading his heart with lusty daydreams.

He imagined advancing on the slut. Her ass was practically being presented for him like a target. What if he just stepped up and gave her...?

No! He needed to move, and fast, before she noticed him. Okino tried to will his feet to budge. He needed to advance, or he needed to run, but he needed to do something.

He took a deep breath, trying to rally himself, to steady his nerves and steel his will. But all he breathed in was spicy sweetness. Honey and liqueur and nutmeg and cloves and cinnamon. Spices he didn’t know by name and yet instinctively knew, spices humans had been trained by their Thriae owners to melt for since before written history.

His head spun. He felt himself sagging against the doorway. He imagined pleading for a sip of whatever it was she was making. She would turn around and giggle at him, offering him a spoonful, maybe even letting him lick the bowl, and maybe after he gave in she’d be kind enough to...

He was almost too dizzy to see straight now, but his eyes somehow remained perfectly fixated on her ass as it swung back and forth. The Thriae kept humming, and kept wiggling in time with the music, as she stirred the concoction in the pot. She seemed totally rapt in her cooking—almost as hypnotized by her task as he was by her.

Okino wondered if Ytheri had ordered her to cook something up for them. That would explain it. Nobody could resist anything Ytheri wanted.

Move up to her, the buzzing, gooey part of him whispered. Get her in the ass. Thriae are smart when they’re the ones in control, but they’re dumb as fuck when they’re horny. Fuck her stupid and get up the chimney!

His knees were quaking. Run, he tried to tell himself. I can’t take her. She’ll melt me like butter.

Feels so good to melt...

He breathed in again, and again. His mind was sinking into cushioned bliss. It was so hot here. So comfortable. His brain was all fuzzy now. What had he been worrying about? It had been important. He... he needed to escape.

His cock was pressing uncomfortably against the towel, he noticed, so he adjusted where the two sides of the towel met so it could stick out between them. He smiled at his cleverness. It pointed out, straight as an arrow, at the Thriae’s ass in front of him.

It knows what it wants, he thought numbly. He imagined kneeling down in the archway and begging her to... no, he couldn’t think these things...

It felt like hours had gone by. His mind was in a stupor. It was all he could do to remain standing, leaning against the doorframe. Had to fight. Had to run. Had to fuck. Had to remain standing, because if he fell...

Fuck her! his mind insisted. Fuck her ’til she’s yours! She’ll be weak, thanks to Ytheri!

You’re weaker, the other part of him said. So weak. So horny. So weak and horny and obedient. So horny. Such a good boy...

Okino slumped completely against the doorframe, letting out a soft sigh of pleasure. He reached down with one hand and felt his cock pulsating with need. Maybe if he came, he’d be able to think straight. The Thriae was so distracted. He was so close, it would only take a few seconds. He started to stroke himself, breathing heavily.

And it was at this exact moment that the Thriae turned around, still humming to herself, eyes cast towards the mug she was blowing on. Okino’s hand shot from his cock as his heart slammed into his gut.

A long moment went by. She seemed quite distracted trying to cool the mug’s contents off. Okino’s heart was pounding.

Then the Thriae looked up. Their eyes met. Her lips parted in a mute ‘O’ of surprise.

He stared at her, needy, weak, desperate.

“Oh!” A hand flew to her mouth as she stared back at him.

He was practically gasping for breath, now, taking in more and more of the delectable scents. He slid further back against the wall. Had to fight... had to flee... had to fuck...

Slowly, the Thriae’s surprised expression changed to one of sly amusement. She looked him over, golden eyes sparkling in silent laughter. “Oh, you’re all ready for me, aren’t you?”

With one hand, she unclasped her blue apron and let it fall to the floor. With this done, she sauntered over to him. Her hips swayed and breasts jiggled with every step. His eyes followed the sensuous motions.

She came to stand in front of him, biting one lip, and reached down to touch his cock. He couldn’t move. Her fingers stroked gently over his member, making his very soul quiver. “It’s all out for me an’ everything,” she whispered in wonder. “Oh, good boy.”

His cock throbbed at the praise. “I...” Okino tried to swallow, but his throat had gone dry. “I,” he croaked.

“Here,” she said, all smiles as she handed him the mug. “Drink, my thirsty boy.”

He accepted the mug and stared down at it, full of dread. The fluid inside was viscous and the color of a creamy amber, like melted butter. It was mead. True mead, the kind the Thriae were known for. Just as addictive and delicious and arousing as the honey, but imbued with a wonderful enough scent to brainwash a man from forty yards, given time.

He’d given her a lot of time.

“I-I can’t,” he whimpered. He started to tip it over, but then she took his hand and held it steady. Her eyes held him just as firmly as she lifted the mug to his lips. “Thirsty boy needs his drink,” she cooed. A she spoke, her fingers softly caressed his cock. His whole mind felt like it was full of wool.

“P-please... I mustn’t...”

“But you must,” she purred. “And you know you will eventually. It’s what Mistress wants.”

No. He struggled to keep his mouth closed as he felt the warm, tingly fluid oozing onto his lips. He breathed in and smelled the intoxicating scent, but at least he wasn’t drinking it. That was something, right?

“Do you know what mead is?” she asked him, smiling. He kept his mouth determinedly shut. “Mead means pleasure, boy. Mead means pleasure for silly humans who don’t know how good it feels to belong to us. Silly humans, silly catgirls, silly elves and mothboys and mothgirls... and don’t you feel nice right now?”

He tried to close his eyes, to look anywhere but her eyes of molten gold, but she held him there, just as she held his hand on the mug, just as she held his cock in her slender fingers and continued to slowly edge him towards bliss.

“It can feel so much nicer. You’re breathing it in right now.” She giggled. “Can’t you feel it filling you up like a balloon? Your cock’s getting soooo hard. I can feel it.” She purred the word.

His cock was hard, but that was just because she was stroking it. Right? “Mm-mmh!” he managed, shaking his head. The mug followed his movements, staying at his lips.

“You’re letting me stroke it,” she hissed. “You’re letting me hold you here. That’s ’cause you know how good it feels.”

No. She was poisoning him! He tried to lean away, but she just leaned further in, breasts jiggling again. It was so hot. So heady.

The towel fell to the soft carpeted floor, forgotten. His eyes were lost in hers. His mind was lost in the scent of mead. His cock was singing with pleasure at her soft touches. Only his will struggled to hold on, adrift in a sea of oozing, gooey, spicy syrup.

Her fingers kept pumping him, slowly but steadily. They were slick and sticky, and he knew why. His cock was tingling, too, now. He trembled.

“If you don’t like it,” she said sweetly, “just make me stop.”

Yes. He had to make her stop. With the hand she wasn’t holding to the mug, he reached out and tried to push her away. Had to break free. Had to get away from her. But he felt so... so weak...

She gasped as his hand pressed against her cleavage. “Ooh. Or do we want more? Naughty boy!”

She grinned devilishly at him. He felt the hand on the mug leave his and travel down, taking his hand and adjusting it. Now his hand rested directly over one of her full, flushed breasts. He felt her pert nipple pressing against his palm.

“You want more!” she squealed, elated. She stroked him a little faster, and he felt his knees start to buckle. He was sinking down to the floor, and when he got there, she would mount him. And when she mounted him, he would be lost for hours.

With every submission, he grew weaker.

“I’m gonna give you,” she breathed, her voice almost a moan, “so much more, since you want it soooo bad.”

His eyes widened. “Mm-mm!” he protested.

“Mm-hmm....” She smiled. “You love me, sweetie. I make you feel so good!” He felt the orgasm building below as her fingers slid up and down his shaft, lubricated, expert in their attentions. He felt the warm, sticky lactation beneath his palm as he continued to press against her breast. Smelled the wonderful scent of mead as it filled his mind with gooey obedience...

“No!” he cried.

And as he cried it, mead oozed into his mouth. Even though she’d released his hand, Okino was still holding the mug up to his lips.

“If you don’t want it,” she said, giggling, “why’re you drinking?”

He stared at her as his mouth closed. He could taste the wondrous mixture now on his tongue. Spicy and sweet. It made his whole mouth tingle.

“It’s not too late though!” she cooed. “You just need to not swallow!”

Yes. She was right! She was so smart. Trembling with pleasure from her strokes, from her proximity, Okino tried to... tried to...

But his mouth wouldn’t obey him when he tried to spit. He pursed his lips, but nothing came out. He tried to open his mouth, but his lips wouldn’t obey him. At least he remembered to lower the mug before more slipped in.

“Aw.” She giggled. “I think you like the taste!”

He looked at her with wide, desperate eyes. Did he? Was that why? Was he that weak?

“Here, sweetie.” She pursed her lips. “Kiss me. I’ll eat that nummy treat up for you.”

She was stroking him faster and faster. He was breathing heavily, smelling more and more delightful scents. It was so hot... so humid...

He leaned in, heart pounding. Could she really save him?

He realized his mistake when she smiled. Then she leaned in and grabbed him in a kiss like no other.

The buzzing filled his head completely as her lips mashed against his. She moaned against him. He was shaking uncontrollably, leaning in deeper for the kiss. He tasted the poison in her saliva, and it was wonderful, sweet and spicy and intoxicating. Her tongue thrust into his mouth, twining with his own.

Honey filled his mouth, and instantly, reflexively, he swallowed. The honey-and-mead mixture trickled down his throat, stimulating every nerve in his body. For a moment, his mind just shorted out, and he lost himself to her lips and tongue.

And then he was sliding against the wall. His knees buckled completely. His ass touched the soft carpet. Defeat coursed through him, and it felt...

... so good.

She was laughing delightedly as she grabbed the mug and sank down atop him. Her pussy walls contracted. His whole cock was tingling and throbbing enough to drive him mad. He stared up at her as she grabbed the back of his head and tipped it back, her eyes gleaming with pure lust now. The blonde fey straddled him and moved the mug to his lips, eager to pour more mead into his mouth.

“Open wide,” she cooed. “Be a good boy!”

With every submission, he grew weaker.

Just as his lips parted, she began to bounce in his lap, and he came. Sweet, sticky pleasure flooded him, drowned him, and then she was pouring mead down his throat, and he was drinking, moaning, begging and pleading. She gazed down at him with triumph as he drank the last gulp down.

He licked his lips, desperate to savor the last of the exquisite beverage that had damned him. His body was sinking deep beneath the syrupy waves as ecstasy rushed through him.

“Mine,” she said sweetly, leaning close. He felt her slickness drawing the orgasm out, and already he could feel the next one boiling up inside him. The mead was taking effect. Taking control. “My good, sweet boy.”

And she kissed him again, and his mind fell utterly into honeyed bliss.