“So that’s it?” asked Iason, looking at the book.

We were seated around a fire, camped a bit under a day’s walk from the Breizht border.

“That’s it,” I said. ”Gender-Specific Glamours and Their Uses, by Soltad boSuntel the Surprisingly Popular.”

“How can you be sure it’s really the copy from your library?” Iason asked, and before I could stop him, he reached for the book.

“Ugh,” he said a moment later, lying flat on his back six feet away.

“Shh,” I whispered to the book, cradling it gently. “I know you’re confused and scared, but it’s all right. That man isn’t around to use you anymore. I’m from the Library. You remember the Library, right?” The book quivered. “That’s right. Relax. You belong to the Library. You’ve had a long journey, but you’ll be back home soon. Rest now, and open yourself to me.”

Iason sat up and shook his head. “It hit me!”

“Well, of course it hit you!” I said. “You startled it! You’re lucky you had that armor on, or it might have really hurt you.”

“You talk like it’s alive,” he said.

“Well, it sort of is. You can’t just write spells down like recipes,” I said. “Hardly anyone would be able to cast spells from a book written like that. You have to embed the magic of the spell itself into the book. Over the years, all those spells mingle and fuse and breed, getting slowly stronger, and the book becomes more and more… aware is the wrong word, because it doesn’t really have a mind. Alive is as close as you can get. And that, by the way, is how I know it isn’t a copy. There’s not ten living mages with the skill to make a true grimoire, and I doubt any of them would be crazy enough to mess with a stolen book.” I continued stroking the book as I talked, and gradually I felt it let its defenses fall. Brinksmoor had terrorized it pretty thoroughly, ripping the spells from it by sheer force of will, but it felt my connection to the Library, and slowly let me in.

“So what now?” he asked. “How do we find the other books?”

I shook my head. “First things first. We send this one home.”

“You can do that?”

“If the book lets me use its magic for the purpose, yes.” I pulled out a sheet of parchment and began marking it with sigils. “I’ll need to concentrate,” I added. “It’s not an easy ritual.”

Iason watched me for a while as I fiddled with the parchment, but after several minutes without obvious fireworks, he got bored and began pulling out his blankets and taking off his armor. Well, so much for me not getting distracted! Still, it was nice to know that after all that enforced girl time at Castle Brinksmoor, I could still get distracted by a nice big chunk of manmeat.

Even so, I had work to do. Sighing, I moved so that I couldn’t see him and kept working on the parchment. After more than an hour, I finally had the complex seal drawn and the book in its exact center.

Right then. Standing, I clapped my hands. I chanted rapidly in the Old Tongue, feeling the magic flow through me, tingling from my toes to the ends of my hair. Slowly, the ink of the sigils grew darker and darker, drawing in the light of the fire, stars, and moon. Absolute darkness descended as the light was swallowed up. Distant wind began to howl, and there was a sound of pages fluttering. I felt myself floating, then falling to the side, then flying headfirst as the nature of “down” redefined itself. I ignored the sensations, continuing to chant, faster and louder as the wind rose. Suddenly, all the light absorbed by the sigils flared back out, and they burned themselves into—and through—reality itself. The world turned itself inside out, and I saw, for a moment, the book silhouetted against the light.

And then everything was normal again.

The fire crackled to itself as stars and moon shone down through rifts in the clouds. Iason was sitting up in his blankets, staring at me wide-eyed. “Lemma!” he snapped. “Next time you’re going to do something like that? Warn me, okay?”

I grinned, rolled up the parchment, and began laying out my own blankets.

Two days later, Iason and I reached a hamlet just across the border into Breizht. The largest kingdom on the island, Breizht made a large backwards “L” shape along the east and south shores. Despite its size, it was mostly agricultural, lacking the tin that gave the Islands their name. It was, therefore, quite populous but nonetheless poorer than Kyrno.

I know. Poorer than Kyrno! So, instead of filthy miners and ignorant cows, you had filthy farmers and ignorant, starving cows. The hamlet we arrived at was a little better off than most, however. They had regular trade with Kyrno, and a steady stream of border patrols being rotated off-duty; it was enough to fund two inns, at any rate, along with a few shops.

Iason and I took the less smelly of the two inns. It was half-filled, mostly with soldiers and a couple of travelers; the only locals appeared to be the innkeeper and his daughter. They, at least, looked well-fed; the girl reminded me a little of Brea—blonde, freckly, short by Tin Islands standards (but still taller than me, grr) , and curvy—but duller and with fewer teeth. Based on the way she was flirting with the soldiers as she delivered their drinks, I got the distinct impression that ale and lodgings were not the only services the inn sold.

The innkeeper looked us over, and I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Our clothes were extremely well made, and Iason’s armor was obviously excellent. That meant we had money. But our clothes were also obviously stained with long travel, meaning we would be tired and eager for whatever little luxuries we could find. The girl started to walk toward our table, but at a glance from the innkeeper she changed direction. Walking up to us, he rubbed his hands together and smiled in a way no doubt intended to ingratiate himself.

“What may I do for you, gentles?” he asked unctuously.

As the tavern wench walked past, I eyed the ale mugs she was carrying apprehensively. “Do you have anything that isn’t piss?” I asked.

If he was offended, he hid it well. “Ah, discerning travelers from faraway lands, I see. I think I have just the thing for you. My father bought it from a Sea People trader, long ago. Only two bottles left.”

“Save the spiel. Two bottles of what?”

He smiled. “Only the finest of Iberian wines, Lady.”

I boggled. Iberian wine? Here? Iberian wine was legendary. I mean literally legendary, as in it showed up in legends. They said that it was grown by centaurs on fields that had never known war, and other such nonsense. I’d had it once, one small glass at a party for a very wealthy friend. It had opened my mind to vistas of flavor previously undreamt of by mortals, or at least by me.

“Hmm, I suppose that will do,” I said casually.

The innkeeper made a reasonable facsimile of a bow and waddled off to the back room. A few minutes later, the tavern wench returned with a tray, two glasses of purplish-red liquid, and a distressingly brown smile. Tooth care was apparently unknown in the Tin Islands. “Wine for you and your companion, m’lord,” she said to Iason, and I ground my teeth. First, because she assumed he was paying for the wine, but after weeks in the Tin Islands I was starting to get used to their women-are-property attitude. Mostly, it was because of the way she was batting her eyelashes and bending over to lay out his glass, giving him a view down the front of her dress. Little slut!

Of course I wasn’t jealous or anything. Iason was a hottie, but if I wanted him I’d’ve had him already. I was, frankly, a little worn out in that department after my last adventure. No, it was just annoying—like Iason would go for a chubby little hick who’d probably screwed the entire border garrison twice over.

He smiled at her and thanked her politely, and I ground my teeth harder. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Tskanka, m’lord,” she said. I immediately decided I would call her Skank for short. She gave a little curtsy, which of course Iason ate up.

“If m’lord has need of anything further, he may simply call,” she said breathily, and giggled.

I stifled a gag. ”We’ll let you know,” I said pointedly, but she ignored me.

“Thank you, Tskanka,” said Iason.

As soon as she was gone, I leveled my best glare at him. “Thank you, Skank,” I mocked.

“Oh, come on, I was being polite,” he said.

“Polite, sure,” I said. “That’s what I call it when you stare down a tavern ho’s dress.”

“Why, Lemma, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous!” Iason teased.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I snapped. “I just don’t want to see you coming down with some local disease and slowing us down. There’s a book somewhere near this town, you know.” I swirled the wine in my glass and sniffed. It was amazing: it smelled of rose petals and cherries and something I couldn’t identify, something warm and thick and bittersweet and delicious. I sipped, holding it in my mouth and closing my eyes.

The flavor was amazing, delicate and complex, but there was something a little odd. I opened my eyes and peered down at my glass.

“Something wrong?” asked Iason. “It tastes good to me.”

I placed my glass on the table and waved my hands over it, muttering. Green light danced eerily in the ruby liquid, and a puff of yellow smoke rose from the glass. I narrowed my eyes and stood.

“Lemma? What’s going on?”

“I need to have a… conversation with the innkeeper.”

I strode straight through the door next to the bar counter.

“Can I help you?” asked the innkeeper.

I snapped my fingers, and green light glowed from the open lid of a nearby barrel. “Open that,” I said, pointing.

His eyes widened. “You’re a, a witch!”

My hair billowed in a nonexistent wind. “Call me that again. I dare you.”

“Please,” he stammered. “Don’t kill me. I meant no offense.”

“Open the barrel,” I repeated. Every shadow in the room was growing slowly darker and larger, and the nonexistent winds were now strong enough to toss my cape as well. Power flowed through me, begging to be used, but I resisted its call for the moment, waiting for a proper cause.

Trembling, the innkeeper tottered over to the barrel and pulled off its lid. A puff of yellow smoke rose from it to reveal a slightly misty liquid. “It’s just water,” he said. “From the river, you see? Just water!”

“That’s what I thought,” I said, and the inn erupted in a torrent of flame.

I stood smirking a moment later as the debris settled, surveying my handiwork. A blast of wind had wrapped itself around each and every customer as the spell detonated, protecting them from the heat and debris. They all looked very shocked, but none the worse for wear.

In the smashed, charred remnants of the shelf lay two glass bottles of Iberian wine, one full, the other nearly so. I picked them up, and my smirk turned into a smug grin. They weren’t even warm.

The innkeeper picked himself up, coughing, and looked around at the devastation. He moaned and fell to his knees. “You witch! You’ve ruined me!” His hair was burnt and his face black with soot, but he was unharmed.

It is remotely possible that I may, purely accidentally, have very slightly underestimated the strength of his wind barrier precisely that tiny amount that would let him be singed and dirtied but not hurt. A very, very unlikely accident, perhaps, but then if you cast enough fireballs, it has to eventually happen once, right?

Iason helped Skank to her feet. Half her hair was burned away, and her dress was ruined.

It eventually has to happen twice, right? Right, that’s what I thought.

“Our inn!” shouted a soldier, his hand on his sword. His exclamation was greeted with a general murmur of angry agreement of the sort that only a Hicksville riot-to-be can make.

“The witch destroyed it!” cried the innkeeper, his eyes bugging white out of his ash-blackened face. He pointed at me.

The crowd’s angry murmurs grew angrier. People from neighboring houses began to drift toward us, and the anger was spreading. In a moment pitchforks and torches would materialize through that small-town magic that they don’t teach you in school. I can’t imagine why not; it can’t be that hard, and I can’t tell you how many times I could have used a good counterspell for it.

Iason edged up next to me, his hand on his sword as well. Any second now, this was going to turn real ugly.

“And I’d destroy it again, if I had half a chance!” I shouted, driving the crowd’s anger higher. “How dare he water down my wine?”

Silence.

“You been watering the drinks, innkeep?” asked the soldier, his hand still on his sword.

“Well, I, uh…”

There was a roar, and the crowd poured past the soldier. The innkeeper screamed and fled.

Real ugly.

“C’mon, Iason,” I said. “We need to get moving. I think I know where the book is.”

“That was mean, Lemma!” said Iason to me a while later, as we walked up the river, back toward the hills that marked the border with Kyrno. “All that because he messed with your wine?”

“My really-really-good, incredibly-hard-to-find, normally-insanely-expensive wine!”

“Still!”

“Eh, they won’t kill him. He’s fast for such a chubby guy, and mobs tire out fast. He’ll run to the next town, settle down, and eventually start another business ripping people off. And the town has another inn, so they’ll be fine.”

Iason shook his head. “What if you’re wrong? What if they do kill him?”

“Really, really good wine.”

We walked in silence for a while.

“So, you said you figured out where the book is?” asked Iason.

“Yep,” I said.

When it became clear I wasn’t going to say anything else, Iason “You mentioned that you knew it was somewhere near the town. How?”

“I’m a Librarian,” I replied simply. Something was tingling my nose. I tried to focus on it, to pin down what it was, but it was elusive. Getting stronger, though.

“And?”

He wasn’t going to let up until I gave him some sort of an answer, was he? Stupid, couldn’t he see I was trying to concentrate? Him being all question-y and fuckable wasn’t helping. “The caretakers of the Imperial Library of Lemuria have a sixth sense—well, twelfth, really, but that’s not important—for overdue or abused books. And these books are very, very overdue. I can always tell the rough direction to the nearest book until I’m practically on top of it; then it gets fuzzier.”

“Huh,” he said.

“Yeah.” I needed to get away so I could focus on this elusive whatever-it-was teasing at the edges of my mind. “Hey, listen, I’m going to go down by that pool over there.” I pointed. “You wait here for a bit, okay?”

“Uh, why?” he asked, looking extremely puzzled.

Argh! I was getting really sick of explaining to him. Didn’t he get that I just wanted him to shut up and do—I mean, just wanted him to shut up so I could figure this out. “Girl stuff.” He still looked blank, so I continued, “You know, lunar rites?”

“Lunar—oh! Oh. Ick. Okay, yeah, I’ll be here.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I raced down to the pool, got a stand of oak trees between myself and Iason, and practically tore my clothes off.

Wait, wasn’t I supposed to be concentrating on—oh gods, my hand felt good. I stroked and pulled and teased my nipples with one hand, while the other dove between my legs. My knees buckled, and then I fell on my side.

My breathing quickened as I imagined Iason sneaking up behind me as I jilled myself, then swooping down to fold me into a passionate—no! As delicious a wall of manmeat as he might be, he was my friend and my traveling companion, not my fuckbuddy. Think about anything else, anyone else!

And for magic’s sake, Lemma, I told myself, get your hand out of your pussy!

With an intense effort of will, I managed to get my hands off my body and laced my fingers together, so that I couldn’t stroke myself. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate.

There was a funny, but very weak, smell all around this place. It was very slowly getting stronger as we walked. There had been the tiniest trace of magic, much too small to have any real effect, in the wine, and more tiny traces in the barrel of water. Somebody was doing magic upstream, and traces of it were getting washed down the river. Oh, and my pussy was screaming for attention. So much for Brinksmoor and his girls wearing it out. I guess my body’d gotten used to lots (and lots, and lots) of sex, and after a few days without it was complaining.

Damn that Brinksmoor! I remembered my first time with him, and the threads of magic that had wrapped around me, manipulating me, controlling me, making me want him, love him, need him, worship him, obey him. My fingers plunged back into myself and I moaned as I remembered how it had felt to be under his spell, the intense, utterly guilt-free pleasure…

No! My fingers were still plunging in and out of myself, but I forced myself not to think about Brinksmoor and his spell. That way madness lay. I just closed my eyes and focused on my fingers plunging in and out, trying not to imagine anything at all and just ride the sensation.

After an eternity of almost, however, I had to admit it wasn’t working. I needed at least a mental picture of a man, someone tall and broad and dark, commanding my obedience and desire. I had a sudden flash, an image of Iason, wrapping me in spells like Brinksmoor’s, and then I was cumming, hard.

When my breathing returned to almost normal, I pulled my clothes back on and tried to straighten my hair a little. I didn’t want to look groped when I went back to Iason and told him I’d figured out exactly what was going on.

Much to my annoyance, I came back to find someone kneeling in front of Iason, her hands on his knees.

I coughed. “Am I interrupting something?”

Iason turned, looking not the least embarrassed or annoyed that I caught him seconds before a blowjob. “Lemma! I think we’ve got a lead.”

When he turned, it revealed the face of the girl in front of him: Skank. “A lead?” I said. “Is that what you call it in your part of town? Where I come from, we call it a blowjob!”

“Huh?” he said. “Gods, no, Lemma! She was asking for help.”

“Sure. Help. You help her with her lack of cash, she helps you with your excess of sperm.”

“Dammit, Lemma, why are you being so unreasonable? Tskanka doesn’t do things like that! She’s in trouble, and needs help!”

Skank sniffled loudly. I hate it when they do that. Makes it ever so much harder to set them on fire.

“Actually,” she said, “I—I do do things like that. That’s how this started.” She burst out crying. “I know it’s the punishment I deserve from the gods, but I can’t bear it! Please, I promise I’ll be chaste from now on, just help me please!”

I sighed and plopped myself down on a nearby rock. “All right. We’ll hear what you have to say.”

She sniffled again. “Thank you, oh thank you!”

“No promises,” I said sharply. “Now spill.”

Iason was glaring at me. Well, screw him. Just because he wanted to bone the girl didn’t mean I had to help her.

Skank took a deep breath, then began spilling the story out rapidly and confusedly. The gist of it was, some local hedge wizard had come to her inn and bought a night of her “services.” She had been overwhelmed with attraction to him from the start, and soon found herself doing far more than he’d paid for. Soon, she found herself returning to him, needing what only he could give her. He was controlling her, manipulating her, and he had plans to claim other women.

“That’d explain the river,” I said when she was done.

“River?” asked Iason.

“There’s a residue of magic clinging to it, a spell to cause arousal in women. I first picked it up in our watered-down wine. It’s weak, but has a cumulative effect over a long time. That town’s probably going to produce a lot of babies in the next few months.”

“Right,” said Iason. “That settles it. Tskanka, lead us to him!”

“One moment,” I said. I smiled sweetly at Skank. “Would you excuse us a moment while I talk to my partner briefly?”

Iason gave Skank a half-apologetic shrug, and we put our heads together. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Are you crazy?” I said. “We can’t go with her. She’s admitted to being under his control—she’s probably leading us into a trap!”

“If she were going to lead us into a trap, would she tell us she’s controlled?”

“Possibly,” I said. “If the control is incomplete, or she’s fighting it, she might lead us right to her master and then turn on us. That might even be what he’s planning.”

“What, you don’t think you can handle her?”

“Ha ha,” I said. “The point is, we don’t want to come walking in at exactly the time and place he expects! We have no idea what book he has or what it allows him to do, which means we need the advantage of surprise.”

“I guess you have a point,” Iason said.

“Of course I do,” I said. “I’m a genius, remember? Not to mention beautiful and powerful.”

“Not to mention modest.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “All right, so here’s my plan...”

Iason stormed angrily over to Skank. “Screw you, Lemma!” he shouted back over his shoulder.

“Go to Hell!” I snapped back. “And take your little girlfriend with you!”

“I’ll see you there! Come on, Tskanka. She’s not going to help you, but I will.”

“Oh, get a room!” I shouted, and plopped down on my rock. Iason might not like my plan, but it was still the best way to take this guy down and get the book from him. First, though, I had to kill some time, and it was pleasantly warm here on the rock, in the sun. I stretched, yawned, and curled up for a quick nap.

I woke naked, bound to the rock. Four cloaked and hooded figures stood over me, one on each side and one each at my head and feet. The ones at my sides lightly, teasingly stroked their fingertips over my arms and belly, and I shivered. It was dark and cold, and the moon was bright and full. It hung low, pregnant with light, and I could feel its cool touch joining with those delicate, maddening fingertips.

They were chanting something, too low for me to make out words. I could feel their chant twisting the light, twining it around me in dark, ritual magic. My thoughts were getting slower, more sluggish, but my senses were becoming heightened. It felt good. It felt right.

The woman—somehow, I could tell all but one of the figures were women—at my head leaned down and began whispering in my ear. My brain was slow, so slow. I couldn’t keep up with what she was saying, but that was okay. I nodded and smiled and murmured agreement. Whatever she was saying, I just felt too warm and comfortable and intensely horny to argue.

Slowly, it occurred to me that I recognized her voice. It was Skank! Which meant I’d been captured by her master, just as I’d feared would happen. Oh well. If I was doomed anyway, I might as well enjoy it.

The man at my feet stepped forward, and his hood fell away to reveal Iason. “Hello, Lemma,” he smirked.

“Iason?” I asked. Or tried to, anyway. It came out more like “Yspln?”

“Relax,” he said. “Surrender to me, and receive your reward.”

Surrender sounded great. He was removing his robe, so I could guess what the reward was, and I wanted it as much as I’d ever wanted anything.

“You will be mine once more, and I will rebuild,” he continued.

Once more? When… wait, since when could Iason do this? “You’re… not Iason,” I managed to say thickly.

“You’re right,” he answered. “I transferred my mind into his body as he killed me, and have been slowly taking over since. Now that this body is mine, I shall build up followers and retake my castle. You will be firmly and fully mine this time, and I will never be defeated.”

“Lord… B-brinksmoor,” I stammered as he spread my unresisting legs, positioning himself between them.

“Master,” he corrected, and I knew it was true. I would never, could never escape. I didn’t want to escape.

“Master!” I gasped out as he entered me.

I jerked awake. It was late afternoon, and I was lying, unbound and fully clothed, on the rock. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up, trying to ignore the fact that I was squishing. The thing I wanted most in the world, at that moment, was to jam my hand down my pants and finger myself while chanting the word “Master” over and over again. But I resisted the urge, and hopped down off the rock.

I stretched. I’d rested more than long enough; time to get this over with. I began walking swiftly upstream, and before nightfall I reached a little waterfall, covering the entrance to a cave. This was it! I could sense the book inside.

I took a deep breath. I was feeling hot and flushed and dizzy. I’d think I was coming down with a fever, if not for the incredible horniness coming along with it. No, this was definitely that stupid spell still working on me. Whatever.

“All right!” I announced as I walked into the cave. “I’m in a real bad mood, so whoever the hell you are, get out here so I can kick your ass!” Or fuck your brains out, I didn’t add. Maybe I’d do both, if I could decide what order to do it in.

A figure stepped out of the shadows at the rear of the cave, and I could only stare, mouth agape. “You!?” I gasped. “You’re the mind-controller?”

He blushed and smiled sheepishly. “Hi,” he said. He was my age or maybe a year or two older, tall and gangly and very pale, with a huge schnozz and a mop of pale-yellow hair. His face was pitted and scarred with pimples, and I felt a dash of empathy. Not that I ever had a problem with pimples, of course. I was most certainly not ever a skinny, pimply girl with poofy hair, and that semester of Cosmetic Magic was totally a mistake. Really! I thought they meant something to do with space or dimensions or something. Look, just shut up and listen to the story, all right?

Where was I?

Right, pimples. I mean, he wasn’t a bad looking kid, really. Give him a couple of years, an exercise program, and some acne cream, and he’d be sort of cute. Oh, and a nose job.

All right, fine, so I was just insanely desperate to get laid. Point is, I held onto my head and kept barreling along. “You have a book of magic,” I said. “It doesn’t belong to you. Give it to me, and I might not set all your internal organs on fire.”

“Which book?” he asked. “I’ve got tons.”

“Huh?” I said. That was not the answer I’d been expecting. Nor was it the one I’d been hoping for, which involved him pushing me down to the floor and having his way with me.

Dammit, the spell was way stronger in here. What the hell was it? I looked around the room, but there didn’t seem to be any answers in here. For all that it was inside a cave, the room was done up as a fairly comfy sitting room, with overstuffed armchairs and chintzy little tables.

“Tskanka!” he called back into the cave. “Bring out my books.”

“Yes, Master!”

I gave him a reproachful look. “So you’re controlling her mind. Proud of yourself?”

“Hey!” he protested. “It’s not my fault!”

I didn’t say anything. I was worried that if I did, I would ask him to do me next.

Skank, looking decidedly groped and very pleased with herself, emerged with a small box containing a dozen books. “Master has the largest collection I’ve ever seen!” she said proudly.

“Yeah…” How am I supposed to make fun of ridiculous barbarians when they do it to themselves for me? Inconsiderate, that’s what I call it. “That’s, uh, swell. So, Skank, what happened to Iason?”

“The big guy with the sword?” asked Skank’s controller. “Locked in the storeroom.”

“That idiot.” I glared at Skank. “I told him not to trust you.”

“Don’t be so hard on her,” said the controller. “She was telling the truth. It was only after I came upon the two of them in the storeroom, looking for my books, that she had her change of heart.”

“Whatever.” I walked over to the books. “That’s the one,” I said, pointing at the leather-bound copy of Cosmetick Magicks Faire and Foul: Fourth Student Edition.

Wait, what?

I whirled on the controller. “I’ve used that book! There’s no mind control spells in there. Who the hell are you?”

“I,” he said with a flourish, “am Maxithaumicius, the great and powerful sorcerer, soon to be known throughout the lands!”

“Right,” I said. “Pull the other one, kid.”

He sighed. “Fine. My name’s Steve. But one day—”

“Whatever,” I said. “Where the hell’d you get the spell you’ve been pouring in the river?”

“River?” He looked at the cave entrance. “Oh no, it’s been getting in the river, too?”

I pulled out one of the chairs and sat on my hands to keep them still. If I didn’t get some answers soon, I was going to strangle him, assuming I could keep my hands out of my pants and his. Godsdammit, but I was going crazy! I just had to stay focused on being pissed, and on getting the book and Iason and getting out of here without getting screwed. Physically or mentally.

Steve turned back to me. “Please!” he begged, desperation written across his face nearly as clearly as the acne. “Help me!”

Help him? I was the one about to explode! He should help me! “Uh, help you with what?” I asked.

“It’s happening to you, isn’t it?” he asked. “You’re getting, uh, horny.” His voice squeaked a little at the last word. “You’re controlling yourself well, but you’re going to snap any moment aren’t you?”

“Ungh…” I groaned. “I’ve got,” I licked my lips, “a lot more control than you give me credit for.”

“You shouldn’t fight it,” said Tskanka. “Being Master’s slave is wonderful. I always forget that when it wears off, but I’m always drawn back to him. You will be, too, forever.”

“It started when Master Hengrod died a few months ago,” Steve explained.

“He was a healer. Master was his apprentice,” Skank added.

“I don’t care if he was a professional hamster-groomer,” I snapped. “I wants my book, ya dig?” I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. I was in a worse mood with every passing second. A voice in the back of my head was whispering how awesome it would be to fuck Steve and Skank and anybody else I could find until I couldn’t see, to descend back into the slavery I craved.

I mean, the fucking. I craved the fucking, not the slavery. I am an independent, liberated woman of Lemuria, a sorceress and a professional and one tough cookie. I do not enjoy being enslaved, thank you very much. That had to be the spell talking.

Anyway, I needed to stay calm until I could convince him to give me a good, rough, hard—uh… hardback book. Yeah. I couldn’t just snatch it; the book was only a generation old, so the spells in it hadn’t been used much and weren’t very powerful. Problem was, because it was so young, it might hurt itself struggling. I had to get Steve to give it to me (give it to me now, give it to me fast and I’ll do anything you want), so it would recognize me as its owner.

Steve gave me a canny look. Well, as canny as Tin Islanders get, which is to say, he looked like he had gas. “I’ll give it to you if you help me.”

Fuck. Fuckety fuck on a hot fuck sundae with whipped fuck and sprinkles. “What do you need?” I asked breathily. I looked up at him from half-lidded eyes. I couldn’t help it.

“Um…” he looked embarrassed. And more than a little turned on. He swallowed and closed his eyes. “Help,” he squeaked. “I need to find a cure! I haven’t left the cave in weeks!”

“Cure?” I asked. Not what I was expecting. My shrieking, demanding, aching, dripping pussy didn’t care, but my brain was still running the show for the moment.

Bit by bit, Steve dribbled out his story. He was, it appeared, an idiot. More of one than was obvious, I mean. The short version: he’d whipped up one of the most basic spells in the book, an acne cure. Except that he didn’t know what a lemon was, or rosemary, or half a dozen other plants the salve called for. So he guessed.

“You have got to be fucking me. Kidding me. Fucking kidding me.” I bit my tongue for a second and mentally screamed at my hormones to shut up. “You just slapped a bunch of plants together, pumped some magic to it, and then smeared it on your skin? You’re lucky to be alive!”

“Smeared it?” he asked. “Of course! I thought it tasted nasty.”

I gave up sitting on my hands so I could bury my face in them. Just when you think people can’t be any dumber…

I kept my hands there because it felt good. My thumbs, seemingly of their own accord, began tracing the softest little circles over my earlobes. “So… ah… what did it do to you?” My voice was high-pitched and small. Had to quit playing with my ears… I brought my hands down to rest on my thighs, where my fingers started stroking, lightly, impulsively, completely-not-helping-ly.

“Well, uh… women get turned on being around me. If it’s in an enclosed space it’s really strong. Found that out in the inn with Tsanka. And, uh, once we, uh…”

“Fuck…” I whispered helpfully, gazing up at him with big eyes. It must have altered his skin like it was supposed to, but because he used the wrong ingredients, instead of curing his pimples it gave him an aphrodisiac scent of some sort. Which meant there was no way I could have resisted it. I didn’t have to feel bad about that.

“Yeah, uh, after that, she became my slave. For a few days, until it wears off, and she’s immune for a couple of days. But even then if I gave an open-ended order she has to keep obeying it.”

I had a sudden mental image of the future: after days of helpless obedience to his every perverted, twisted desire, I recover my free will at last. I try to escape, and he utters the implanted word that makes me go completely limp. For days more I sit there while the dark scent that makes me want him surrounds me, fills me, until I am insane with lust and unable to act. Then, finally, he says the word that releases me, and I throw myself at him, knowing it will make me his slave once more, but powerless to contain my need.

“Oh, fuck,” I whispered, and jumped him. He yelped and tumbled over backwards, while I tried to simultaneously cover every bit of skin I could reach, mostly his face, with kisses, feel him through his robes, and struggle out of my own clothes. I was not very successful.

“Tskanka!” he called in panic. “Help!”

“Of course, Master!” she chirped, and rushed over to help me out of my clothes. In hindsight, I don’t think that’s what he had in mind.

A moment later, Steve lay, half-stunned, on the floor, but the part of him that mattered was standing straight up. That was all the invitation I needed to push myself down on him, hard and fast. I bucked my hips wildly, desperately on top of him. “Fuck me,” I babbled. “Fuckmefuckmefuckme!”

“Shit,” he panted, grasping my waist in an effort to take my control. “I guess,” pant, “one more slave,” pant, “won’t kill me,” pant. “And then,” pant, “you won’t have,” pant, “any choice but to,” pant, “help me.”

“Ohhhh yes!” I shouted. “Fuck me, please fuck me, make me your slave, make me do anything just fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” I practically sang the last word, as everything exploded in pleasure and little sparkly lights.

But I still wanted more. I kept going, thrashing wildly as he thrust up into me. I came again and again, riding higher every time. Finally he gave a shudder, his breath caught, and he spurted up into me.

I kept on going, but I could feel him shrinking and trying to push me off. “Get off and get dressed,” he ordered.

I kept pumping while I waited for the compulsion to obey to replace the compulsion to fuck. It was taking its sweet time.

“I said, get off and get dressed!”

Well, shit. I still had free will. Sort of. If by “free will” you mean “desperate need to keep fucking until I pass out.”

“Tskanka!” Steve shouted. “It’s not working! Pull her off me!”

Tskanka rushed forward to grab me, but I pivoted right around on Steve’s cock without breaking my rhythm—someday I’ll have to tell the story of how I learned that trick—and nailed her with a quick-and-dirty paralysis spell from the knees down. The rotation had the added bonus of getting Steve hard again. He groaned and I grinned. I was getting fucked; all was right in the world.

Of course, since I was turned around and more than a little distracted, I didn’t notice Iason enter from the back of the cave. First I noticed him was when he knocked Steve out and dragged me from the cave. I, of course, spent that time doing the obvious, logical thing to do in that sort of situation: I humped his leg.

Half an hour later, I was dressed and curled on the grass outside the cave entrance, trying not to notice how horny I was and watching Iason drag the hog-tied Steve and Skank out of the cave. He’d followed his part of the plan perfectly—pretend to fight with me, go with Skank to the cave, let himself be captured, and break out and hit the wizard from behind while I distracted him.

Only flaw was, I got distracted, too. Was still distracted, really.

“How?” croaked Steve.

“I’m a six-foot armored man with a six-and-a-half-foot sword that can slice through dragon vertebrae like butter,” said Iason. “You really thought a storeroom would hold me?”

“I don’t think that’s what he’s asking,” I said. “He’s asking how I didn’t become a slave.”

“Become a—” asked Iason, surprised, before I waved at him to sit and listen.

“Well, Steve, to answer your question: Tskanka became your slave the instant your semen touched her. That’s what happened when you decided to be the king of all idiots and eat a salve you hadn’t even made properly in the first place!” I broke off a second to calm down. I was still pissed at getting so thoroughly snared by a guy who probably needed three tries and a visual aid to remember how to put his robes on in the morning. “The salve sort-of did what it’s supposed to do, alter your skin. But because you’re too stupid to catch a clue with clue-bait and a net—”

“Oh, I like that one,” said Iason.

“Thanks.” I turned back to Steve. “Because you’re an idiot and drank it, it altered your bodily fluids in order to get at your skin. Your sweat and your semen, specifically. It made your sweat a potent aphrodisiac, affecting any woman that smells you or the river you’ve been bathing in. And it made your semen a powerful potion of enslavement—which is why it only lasts a few days before you need to add more. Semen doesn’t last long outside your junk.”

“But I did cum in you!” he protested.

“Pfft,” I said. “I went to a school that taught magic to teenagers. We had three weeks studying Troia’s Monthly Incorporeal Condom every year! Your cum never touched me.”

“Okay,” he said. He must have been scared out of his wits, because I could feel my need rising steadily. “Great. Everybody’s fine, now you can cure me and we’ll all go our separate ways?”

I grinned wickedly. “Suuuure. But, of course, you’re gonna have to pay me first…”

An hour later I walked happily along the river, cradling my lovely little newly recovered Library book in my arms. Iason walked beside me, stealing glances at me whenever he thought I wasn’t looking.

“What?” I asked. “Did the sight of my gorgeous, naked body fill you with naughty thoughts? It’s perfectly understandable, but please, try to remember that I am a lady.”

“I was just thinking that, actually,” he answered. “’Man, she is one scary lady.’”

“Oh, I’m not so bad.”

“Lemma, you set him on fire.”

“It was an important part of the spell!” I protested. “I needed to cleanse him. When his skin finishes growing back, it’ll be perfectly normal. In the meantime, the pain’ll help him remember not to mess with magic.”

“Lemma. You set the kid’s balls on fire!.”

“Yeah…” I grinned. “That was awesome. Anyway, now he’ll never enslave anyone again. End of problem.”

“And ‘accidentally’ setting Tskanka’s hair on fire, too? What problem did that solve?”

“I like fire.”

“You could have really hurt her! She was an innocent!”

“Meh.”

“You’re going to get us in serious trouble someday, little scary lady.”

I stuck my tongue out at him and then rushed on ahead, laughing. The next book was waiting! Whoever had it, whatever defenses they put up, I’d find them, and no matter what they did, I’d win. I’d take on as many idiot Tin Islanders as they could throw at me, and I’d beat them all. Because I’m smarter than them, prettier than them, better at magic than them.

And because, no matter what else happens, there’s always more fire.