---Entry 8/Trial 6/jeremy's Phantoms---

Hello Gretel. My name is jeremy. i am a faithful servant to my Cherish as you are, and have been made to record my thoughts in one of Her trials. It is an honor and a privilege to have this opportunity to be allowed to write in my Ruler's journal, and each word i write is everything i can remember, and every word reminds me of and increases my devotion to the one i Cherish more than anyone, more than myself. i Love Cherish, and Obey.

As of this entry, a week has passed since Her beach trials, and She has continued her experiments. It was in the middle of the night when i found myself forcefully assaulted by two people. my utter helpless state instilled in me by Cherish left my objections weak against them. They weren't at first, as i always have enough strength to protect my Goddess, but i sensed She wasn't there. i was the only one assaulted and felt She was elsewhere and safe. Having been assaulted before by others at Goddess's behest, i thought this was a similar circumstance. i was only aware of the pitch black of the bedroom, the fresh taste of Cherish's juices on my lips, making me lick my lips at the oddest of times, and especially the strength my assailants had, how i might have had trouble fighting them against in service of Cherish.

At the time, i had little to identify my captors with. What i knew for sure is they were as naked as i was. Their soft skin and long hair against my skin made me think they were female. The thought of other witches Cherish knew, friend or foe, came to mind, and it perplexed me less as to why they were so hard to fight. Some spell or incantation leaving them to overpower me was not so far-fetched; all the magic i've seen done and had cast upon me, i can only conclude magic as limitless. Limitless power was a secondary worry compared to their intentions. Arms and legs were firmly pinned down under legs sitting on me and hands gripping my wrists. Some kind of cloth was wrapped over my mouth to keep me from yelling out. The only sound besides my stifled struggling was the a chorus of low, female laughter; women who knew they'd secured their prey. i felt the tassels of a leather crop against my skin. i couldn't stop myself from shuddering the tips of them teased each rock hard nipple and the length of the penis my Goddess owns.

Somewhere in-between the sensitive areas, i was struck harshly with the crop. my yelp of pain was met with an even harder strike, urging me to be as silent as possible as i took punishment. Why i was being punished was a mystery. It made sense if it had to do with my wretched past life of disrespecting women, but i was never told by them why i was being treated with such scorn. It wasn't all scorn as while one continued to strike me, the other treated me with gentle care, caressing and fondling me. The mixture was beyond comprehension. I gentle hand caressed my face while another slapped it hard into the gentler one. The only uniformity was pleasure and pain, but sometimes there was disorientating rhythm, while the gentle hand painfully squeezed my penis as the crop took to teasing me again. 

i was reduced to tears, bruises, and indecisive internal pleas of whether i wanted it to stop or not. Most of what i wanted was to know about Cherish, that She was safe or perhaps participating. That wish was granted as my eyes adjusted past tears to notice it was no longer pitch black, and a faint light source was coming from another room. Leaning my head forward, i saw Goddess in a chair, hands outstretched to me, and my assailants being invisible, maybe even non-existent until Cherish stretched out Her hands and made magic happen. i would've gladly been muscle for Her if needed, but it seems She no longer needed that. They way She sat in the living room loveseat, legs clenched together, it looked like She was trying to keep orgasmic pleasure locked into Her body. i deduced afterwards, now, that She was testing how long her boost in power would last post-climax. 

Not long after i saw Her, the restricting bodies around me faded into nothing, i could move freely on the bed, and saw Goddess harumph at first, then angrily slam Her hand on the stand nearby, for losing the boost after coming completely off Her high. She stretched her hands out to me, to resume the spell at normal strength, which usually felt like ghostly hands grasping at me, as gently or usually as roughly as Cherish liked. i barely felt hands on me at all, like a ghost of a ghostly touch. Never before had Goddesses magical touch against me been this weak; being so intimate with Her craft, i don't think She could produce power so weak even if She tried. She saw all this register on my face as i barely reacted to whatever She wanted to do to me. Her eyes flared as She found the drawback to this sexual power boost still in effect. There was even depletion of normal strength when the boost died down. 

i could tell She would be up all night as She slammed the bedroom door on me, pacing and planning while leaving me to suffer the absence of Goddess's presence.

---Trial 6.1: Cherish addendum---

Dear Gretel,

I concur with the feelings and findings my slave had on the phantom trial. I felt the weakness most likely around the same time he did. Like a tap running dry, my magic went from a stream to a steady drip from my finger tips. I probably couldn't hurt a fly after that. Of course, feelings of anger and rage ensued, and unfortunately none of those brought the boost back. I guess it's the g-spot or nothing.

I'd tested dozens of telekinetic spells all night until I became too drowsy to try anymore. Every spell was an immensely weak version of what I could do as a teenager - not good. When I woke up late the next afternoon, things returned to normal. I waited a day to retry the same scenario, and it worked out exactly the same. The power post-orgasm doesn't last more than a half-hour, and it takes literally hours and rest before anything comes back. After every trial, I'd never thought to see if there'd be any side-effects. But that's one of the purposes of these trials, so I don't royally fuck up later.

Between you and me, this fear of higher stakes now is higher than ever; the further I pursue it, and the more powerful I get, the farther I fall once it's gone, to where I could lose my power for days, or weeks at a time, or worse when losing it for seconds is enough of a worse-case scenario. I wouldn't have thought this possible until yesterday, but it's a growing fear now. Fortunately, I'm way too stubborn and excited with all this to turn tail and not explore this further. With what I want, it's worth the risk.

---Trial 6.2: Cherish addendum---

Dear Gretel,

A small aside, but soon after this last trial, jeremy made what sounded like snide comment at the time. And to answer a question that would be on someone's mind, yes, my totally brainwashed slave has the ability to make snide comments, be bratty, to maintain independent thought. Most of the time he's sweetly submissive, totally in love with me and willing to do whatever I want because he thinks he wants this, but he's encouraged to have independent moments for no other reason besides knowing it gets him into trouble. 

His snide comment was to the tune of how weird my writing style is ("stream-of-consciousness writing" he called it), speaking about things I wouldn't need to jot down like details of spells, that I love my own thoughts enough to want to hear or write them down as often as possible. He chuckled as he said it. He cowered after I made him repeat it after hearing my tone of voice. And he yelped after I made him repeat it again, interrupting him with a phantom slap to his ass. The sound of his surprise made me grin, as more hands forced him to bend over and take more hard spanks to his reddening cheeks, both sets in-fact (ass and face). We both love when his mouth gets him into trouble, but he did make an interesting point: why am I putting such detail into all this? 

Re-reading some of my stuff, it feels like I'm writing to explain to someone that really knows nothing about the things I'm too well-versed in, like capturing moment-to-moment experiences not just for recording experiments, but posterity to the tune of memoirs as well. Assuming you do end up being my memoir, Gretel, that might mean I expect more than myself to read this, and that what I do is important enough to warrant it. I kind of don't want to jinx anything with where the end of the line for that train of thought ends up...but such a thought affirms the fact that I can't turn back. Even if it becomes the safer move to turn back, I don't think I can; I'll be on this train till the end of the line, no matter where it goes.