First Times

|begin>[This is it. You've prepared for this day like you're casting an eleventh-tier spell, like you're taking the most important exam of your life, and in many ways, you are. The components are different, of course. No iron geometry tools, no runes chalked and inked across pages or floorboards with meticulous care. No tiny silver balances weighing out minute pinches of ground basilisk tongue or arsenic, weighing out hours and years of your life spent bowed over books. The spell you cast today will be written in skin and tongues, fingers and heat, and you've been preparing for it since you were old enough to understand desire, since you first touched yourself between your legs. Here are your components: an hour of privacy painfully chiseled from your schedule, your tiny room with the curtains drawn, beeswax and sweetgrass candles. And Jana, kneeling with you on your bed, knees dimpling the mattress. Jana, with the tiny gap between her two front teeth, her head shaved on one side, her nose ring catching the candlelight. Jana, who's older than you and cooler than you'll ever be, the senior apprentice you've watched with starry eyes since you first started at the collegium, dreaming of this day. You knew it would come, of course. When you set your mind on something, you always succeed in the end. Now all your hope and your hard work, your plans and preparation, have alchemized to create this moment. And all that remains... is to [[get it right->You're a virgin; she's not]]](set: $strike to 0)(set: $rewind to 0)(set: $breasts to "no")(set: $candle to 0)(set: $fakeorgasm to 0)(set: $shegoesdownonyou to 0)(set: $teeth to 0)(set: $honest to 0)(set: $yougodownonher to 0)(set: $herbreasts to 0)

(if:$rewind > 0)[You come back together. The mathematical residue of horomancy drains from your vision like so many grains of sand, and you're back where you started.](if:$rewind >= 1)[ Your heart thuds in your chest, your fingertips tingle painfully, and your skin feels first flushed then cold, neurons and nerve-endings confused by the phantoms of racing thoughts and slathered sweat from a timeline that no longer exists. ](if:$rewind >= 2)[You can't keep doing this. The ethics were dubious to begin with, and to keep compounding deceit on deceit - not to mention the //consequences// of playing with time like this - possibilities snipped off like you took garden shears to a rosebush. Horomancy was never meant to be used this many times in short-succession, repeating the same action over and over again. Your fingers itch to move toward the watch as if dragged by hidden wires, rehearsing the pattern you've engraved too deeply into the very fabric of time. Your brain struggles to hold onto not just where but //when// it is. Here. You're here. ](if:visits is 1)[But for now, you're here. It all starts here. ]You and Jana kneel together on your bed, fingers linked. Her hair smells like rose oil and berries, and (if:$rewind > 2)[even after all these restarts, ]all you want to do is lean in and [[hungrily press your mouth to hers->forcedstrike1 kiss her]]. (if:visits >= 2)[But you've learned from your mistakes(if:$rewind > 1)[ (so many damn mistakes, gods, again-and-fucking-again, but you have to believe you can still get this right)]. You could wait to let her [[kiss you->R2 let her kiss you]] or still kiss her, but [[gently->R2 kiss her gently]].]

"Yeah," you breathe. "Yeah, this is great." The starched collar of your shirt holds your throat like a vise, and your clothes are suddenly //too much//, too many layers of fabric rasping against heated skin. You sit back on your heels, peel sweat-damp silk and cotton of your school robes from your limbs, fumble with the buttons of your shirt. A blush burns up your bared neck as you see Jana's eyes widen. "Well," she says. "//Hi// there." "Feel free to follow suit," you say, boldness surging to your tongue. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" But she doesn't move to shed her clothes, just kisses you again. (if:$breasts is "no")[Her strong hands grip your shoulders, slide down your upper arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. One hovers over your naked breast, so close you can feel the heat from her palms. "Can I touch your tits?" she asks, and fresh heat floods your face. You [[nod->nod]].](if:$breasts is "yes")[[[Her hands are so warm.->nod]]]

(set: $strike to $strike+1)You kiss her. It's clumsy. You catch her off guard, come in at the wrong angle. There's a moment of startling warmth, her lips hot and soft, then the spit-wet jarring clack of your front teeth against hers. Jana tries to hide it, but you feel her wince. (if:$strike is 1)[Strike one. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You're already messing this up.] "So eager," she murmurs, and embarrassment curdles hot in your belly. "Less teeth, more tongue, rosebud. Let me show you." Her fingers wind through your hair, tips settling against your skull, as she kisses you with parted lips, the barest brush of wetness and hot breath. Her lips are so soft, her thumbs unexpectedly callused as they press into your cheekbones. Goosebumps stipple your upper arms and your eyes drift shut without meaning to. You can still salvage this. Disguise your inexperience by taking charge. Should you kiss her back — [[bite her lip->strike bite her lip]], or maybe [[slip your tongue into her mouth->strike slip your tongue into her mouth]]? Or take her hands and [[move them to your breasts->move her hands to your breasts]]?

Weight on the balls of your feet, shoulders tense, you wait for her to make the first move. You can almost feel every tick of the clock in your pocket, the agonizing passage of seconds booming inside your head, as her fingers slide up your cheeks. They wind through your hair, settling against your skull, as she kisses you with parted lips, the barest brush of wetness and hot breath. "Is this okay?" she asks, softly. Your skin seethes with goosebumps and barely contained tremors. Your mouth is bone-dry, cheeks aglow with heat. But you still, still, absolutely have to [[//play it cool//.->play it cool]]

(set: $strike to $strike+1)(set: $teeth to 1)Hand against the shaved side of her head, prickly-soft stubble between your fingers, you take her lower lip between your teeth. Too hard. This time, Jana doesn't try to hide her wince. This time, she pulls away. (if:$strike is 1)[Strike one. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You're already messing this up.] (if:$strike is 2)[Strike two. //Fuck//. You're running out of chances to get this right.] Her fingertips wind through your hair, settling against your skull, and you could cry at the understanding in that touch. "It's your first time," Jana says. "You're learning. Hey. Relax, okay?" She kisses you again, and it's laughable how practiced her motions are compared to yours, how deft. She kisses you like she's learning the shape of your mouth, like the arcane equations of when to linger or release, how far to thrust a tongue and when to take a breath, are second nature to her. How many times has she done this? How many other mouths has she learned (and //taught//) before she found your clumsy one? "Is this good?" she asks softly. Your face is burning. Your skin is all goosebumps and shivers, throat tight, mouth dry. But you absolutely have to [[play it cool->play it cool]].

She cups your breasts, moves her calloused thumbs across your stiffening nipples. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she dips her head to curl her tongue across one nipple, then pulls away and blows on the damp peak. Your breath catches, shivers. You arch your back without thinking, knees digging into the mattress, and find the nape of your neck falling right into the hand she's slid up your back. She finger-rakes your hairtie free, buries a hand in your hair and pulls, and it feels good. Bone-deep good, roots-gone-taut good, pain-shading-into-pleasure-like-you-never-knew-it-could good(if:visits >= 2)[, except you did, this time - or at least your mind did. Your mind finds the pleasure familiar, your body finds it new, but you can't you think too hard on that disconnect lest you lose the thread and fall out of the moment]. Your mouth is so dry. (if:visits is 1)[You sigh, [[doing your best to make it sound sexy->forcedstrike2 try to moan sexily]].](if:visits >= 2)[You could [[give sighing sexily another try->forcedstrike2 try to moan sexily]]. Or you could just [[tell her it feels good->R2 tell her it feels good]].]

You grope for the watch with shaking hands. Your thumb depresses the cold pellet of ribbed and aged metal at its crown, and you feel the web of magic within flare to life. The breath stalls in your lungs as time stands still. You spin the little wheel. Mind and matter are flattened like a folded paper puzzle, pulling you sluggishly through the backward march of seconds back to before you messed it all up. (set: $strike to 0)(set: $rewind to $rewind+1)(set: $breasts to "no")(set: $teeth to 0)(set: $honest to 0)(set: $yougodownonher to 0) Back to where you can try this again. Back to where you can [[get it right this time->foreplay]].

Jana smiles like a fox in a hen coop. She touches you through the wet fabric of your panties to start, fingers rubbing slowly, carefully, up and down. Even through the cloth, your overstimulated flesh thrums at the contact. Nervous, delighted tremors snap and jolt your hips. Your sock-clad feet twist in the sheets. She strokes her thumbs across the soft skin of your inner thighs, then hooks the edges of your panties and works them down off your hips, down to your knobby knees. "You're //soaked//," she says, and sounds genuinely delighted as she does. "God, that's hot." Your face burns as she cards her fingertips through your damp pubic hair, massaging her thumb along the inside of your labia. [["Can I go down on you?"->she asks to go down on you]] she asks.

(if:visits is 1)[All you know about sex is what you've read in bodice-rippers with smudged type, seen painted across arched limbs and open mouths in illicit woodcuts. You were hoping for a shuddering sigh, but what emerges from your lips instead is less cat-in-heat, more pained yowl. It's fake. It's forced. And worst of all, it's not sexy in the least.](if:visits >= 2)[You remember how this went last time. And yet, you try again, doing your best to push the breath from your lungs in a low purr. What emerges from your mouth this time is less high-pitched, but no less fake. No less forced. And worst of all, it's not sexy in the least.] No — worst of all, Jana snorts.(if:visits >= 2)[ Again.] "Sorry," she says immediately, but it's too late. You're slammed by a wave of mortification so intense it nearly folds you in half. Your toes curl, unshed tears sting your eyes. You want to hide. Find a hole to crawl in and die.(set: $strike to $strike+1) (if:$strike is 1)[Strike one. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You're already messing this up.(if:visits >= 2)[ Again.]](if:$strike is 2)[Strike two. //Fuck//. You're running out of chances to get this right.(if:visits >= 2)[ Again.]](if:$strike is 3)[Strike three. Final nail in the coffin. There's no salvaging this. The only thing to do... is [[rewind->rewind]] <img src="images/hourglass2.png" width="20px">] (if:$strike < 3)["Sorry," Jana says again, and you can tell she means it. "I shouldn't have laughed. You're just adorable, you know that?" Her hand at the nape of your neck pulls you in so she can nudge another, contrite kiss against your mouth. [[The next kiss lasts longer->the next kiss lasts longer]].]

"That feels really good," you manage to get out. You feel her lips curve against your neck. "What, this?" She pulls your head back down by your hair, sending satisfying frissons of delight down your scalp. You gasp without meaning to, a short, sharp sound, as she kisses your vulnerable throat before moving back up to reclaim your mouth. [[The next kiss lasts longer->the next kiss lasts longer]].

Her tongue delves in to meet with yours, and (if:visits is 1)[you're beginning to understand](if:visits >= 2)[yes, yes, this is] why the poets talk of //breathlessness//, air-hunger squeezing your throat by the time your mouths unclasp, connected a moment longer by a thin thread of spit. You inhale greedily. It's dark and close in here with the drapes drawn, the candles stealing oxygen for themselves. There's a sheen of sweet on Jana's jaw when you touch it, tangle your fingers in her heavy hair. Her weight leans into you, hand on your sternum — not pushing you down, but waiting, asking unspoken for permission. Her knee nudges the inside of your thigh, and it makes your cunt clench with anticipation. (if:$candle is 0)[You want...so many things. You want to [[touch her breasts->strike touch her breasts]], still hidden beneath her school robes. You want to [[lay back->lay back]], let her guide you down onto the pillows. You want to [[spread your legs->spread your legs]], chasing the touch of her knee with an almost pathetic eagerness, hoping for more.](if:$candle is 1)[But first, you have to [[blow out those damn candles->R2 blow out candles]].]

She entwines her fingers with yours, fitting her palms to the shape of your breasts beneath your robe. Her thumbs trace ever-so-light circles over your stiffening nipples, fabric chafing against sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine.(set: $breasts to "yes") "Is this okay?" she asks, softly. Your face is burning. Your skin is all goosebumps and shivers, throat tight, mouth dry. But you absolutely have to [[play it cool.->play it cool]]

(if:visits is 1)[You...don't know what that means. And flat on your back, your heart banging your ribs as you gaze up at her, the prospect of asking makes your tongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth. She already knows you're a virgin. She's rapidly learning how //clueless// you are, too. Do you really need to expedite the process? [["Uh huh,"->forcedstrike4 bluff]] you say, loading the words with pretend enthusiasm, and pray she won't see right through you. "Totally. Yeah."](if:visits >= 2)[Panic churns through you as you remember how that went //last// time. (A time that hasn't happened yet, and never will, if you have anything to do with it.) "No," you blurt out. "No, let me." Jana's eyebrows rise again. "Oh?" You push up on your elbows, combing your sweat-damp hair off your face. "Let me go down on //you//. I... I want to try." "Overachiever," Jana says fondly. She puts her hand on her chest and presses lightly, urging you to sink back down. "It's your first time. Let me show you how it's done." Should you [[give in->R2 give in]]? Or [[insist->R2 insist]]?]

Jana's eyebrows raise fractionally, but she must elect to believe you, for she slides her hand up the inside of your thigh and holds you around the knee, pushing your leg back. You lick your chapped lips and hold your breath as she bends her head between your thighs, but when her tongue — hot and wet and startling — flits out to touch you there, //there//, you can't hold back a squeak. Your hips buck upwards in alarm, unbidden, and Jana has to grab your leg to keep from being kicked in the face. She doesn't even look surprised. That's the worst part. "I'm going to put my mouth on your cunt, okay?" she says...//explains//, instead. Patiently. //Kindly//. Like she knew you were bluffing all along. Like she knows you don't know shit. (set: $strike to $strike+1)If you thought you were mortified before, it's nothing to the sheer, crimson shame that covers you now. (if:$strike is 1)[Strike one. //Again//. And you were doing so well this time...](if:$strike is 2)[Strike two. //Fuck//. It's all going downhill again.](if:$strike is 3)[Strike three. Final nail in the coffin. You know you can't keep doing this, but your tingling fingers move toward the watch as if dragged by hidden wires, rehearsing the pattern you've engraved into the very fabric of time.. and you [[rewind->rewind]] <img src="images/hourglass2.png" width="20px">] (if:$strike is <3)[[["Okay,"->she goes down on you]] you croak.]

(set: $shegoesdownonyou to 1)The shaved side of her scalp chafes your inner thighs as she lowers her mouth to your cunt once more. (if:visits >= 2)[('Once more' for you, first time for her — you can't think too hard about it, lest it make your skull ache.)] A familiar flurry of anxious thoughts scamper through your head like rats — what does it taste like, how does it //smell// — before her tongue curls under the hood of your clit, and your mind goes pleasingly blank. Her mouth. Her mouth is on you //there//, on the place (if:visits is 1)[you've never been touched by anyone before, only your own hand sneaking under the covers in the safe dark of night](if:visits >= 2)[that was once only touched by your own in the dead of night, and now by her, both now and in the phantom memory of a dead timeline you cut off at the bough]. Every nerve in your body seems concentrated between your legs. Her mouth is so hot, her clever tongue //teasing sliding swiveling lapping//, and your back is arched, head flung back, chin pointed to the ceiling. It feels so good. It feels so, so good(if:visits >= 2)[, just like before]. Your hips strew and roll on waves of pleasure, stop just short of cresting. You squeeze your eyes shut. Open them again. Your hands have buried themselves in Jana's thick hair at some point, blunt fingernails scraping her scalp. //Her// eyes are closed, middle and index fingers of one hand splaying your labia apart, the other hooked under your knee. The sight of her russet head between your thighs, lashes all but brushing your pubes, feels like it shouldn't be allowed - like it's too simultaneously profane and awe-inspiring to exist. But one minute becomes five, and five minutes becomes ten, and (if:visits >= 2)[just like before, ]you're not coming. Oh, it still feels good — so good — wetness creeping down the creases of your inner thighs, pleasure making your limbs alternately seize up and relax — (if:visits is 1)[[["Sorry,"->could do this all night]] you blurt out. "Doesn't usually take this long." ](if:visits >= 2)[Here you are again; turned back time and wound back up at the same damn place. What now? Try to [[fake an orgasm->forcedstrike5 fake an orgasm]]? Or [[be honest->R2 be honest]] and tell her you're not coming?]

"No," you say again. Too loud. You swallow, try to school your voice into something more manageable. "Please? Just let me try." Her eyebrows are angled in a way that signals doubt, but eventually, Jana nods. She folds gracefully onto her side, pouring the length of her body flush alongside yours, thigh to thigh. "Well, if it means that much to you," she says. Another moonbeam-quick curl of mischief to her mouth. "Let's see how well you can take directions." "I'll have you know I'm an //excellent// student," you say, dry-mouthed. It's not bragging if it's the truth. You're a quick study, and you've never met a challenge you couldn't take personally, which is why you're steely-eyed with focus as Jana lifts her hips to let you roll off her underwear, revealing strong thighs and a triangle of damp russet curls. Nothing, not even the practical exams in which you stood before a board of examiners that included your mother, has ever made you concentrate the way you do now, mimicking Jana's movements earlier to rub your fingers through those curls, tilt your hand and slide them into the fiery heat between her legs. The wetness you encounter makes your heart slam with delight and an unfamiliar kind of pride. Jana stretches like a cat and sighs, soft and throaty. [[And you go down on her->forcedstrike5]].

You kiss her — carefully this time, lips on soft lips, and a wisp of hot, damp exhalation. You feel her mouth curve in a smile against yours. Her fingertips wind through your hair, settling against your skull, as she kisses you back. "Is this okay?" she asks, softly. Your throat is tight. Your face is hot. But you absolutely have to [[play it cool.->play it cool]]

You barely make contact, though, before she grips your wrist to stop you. "Mmm, no," she says with a grimace. "I'd actually prefer you didn't touch me there. Sorry."(set: $strike to $strike+1)(set: $herbreasts to 1) You stammer an apology, your mind racing as you remember how she (if:$breasts is "yes")[only touched your breasts once you put her hands there herself](if:$breasts is "no")[didn't touch your breasts without asking first]. (if:$strike is 1)[Strike one. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You're messing this up //again//.] (if:$strike is 2)[Strike two. //Fuck//. You're running out of chances to get this right.](if:$strike is 3)[Strike three. There's no rescuing this. The only thing to do... is [[rewind->rewind]] <img src="images/hourglass2.png" width="20px">](if:$strike is <3)[And as if that wasn't bad enough... The acrid scent in your nostrils isn't just panic. "Do you [[smell something burning->forcedstrike3 candle]]?" you manage to croak.]

You push your knees apart, head tilting back, weight shifting. Jana chuckles, runs a hand gently up the inside of your thigh while the other cups your naked breast. Your cunt clenches again. Yes. Yes, this is finally going right. //This// is what you wanted. And just as you think that...[[you smell something burning->forcedstrike3 candle]].

You slacken your spine, letting your weight pool against the pillows so she's bent over your belly, looming above you. Jana moves with you as if it's the most natural thing in the world, repositioning her knees to straddle yours. You know you're not //really// trapped, but the illusion of being pinned in place, sends excited shivers through your sprawled limbs. Yes. Yes, this is finally going right. //This// is what you wanted. And just as you think that...[[you smell something burning->forcedstrike3 candle]].

(set: $strike to $strike+1)(set: $candle to 1)It's the candles. It's the goddamn mint-and-sweetgrass candles you lit, piled on the headboard and on the windowsill, the latter of which now blazes much brighter than it should as flame licks up a curtain corner. You freeze, caught between disbelief and panic. Jana doesn't. She cuts the air with the side of her hand, a swift, simple cantrip that extinguishes the candles, leaving only an embarrassment of wax drippings and acrid smoke. The room goes dark, so you can't see her face, but you hear her laugh. "Well, that's one way to heat things up," she says. So //this// is why they call it 'mortification'. Humiliation this powerful renders you corpse-like, nerves gone dead and rigor mortis sweeping up your limbs. You can't move. You can't do anything, at all, except shrivel inside. "It's alright," Jana says, sensing your dismay. "This is great, actually. Gives me a chance to show off." She pinches her fingers together, pulls her wrist fluidly through the air in a motion that bubbles a stream of incandescent, glowing orbs into life in the air above you. "There we go," she says. "Mood lighting." She's so goddamn cool - and even she can't salvage this situation. (if:$strike is 1)[Strike one. Not again, not again, not again.](if:$strike is 2)[Strike two. No, no, no, //fuck//. How does this keep going so wrong?] (if:$strike is 3)[Strike three. That's it; you're done. There's no rescuing this. The only thing to do... is [[rewind->rewind]] <img src="images/hourglass2.png" width="20px">] (if:$strike < 3)[You suck in air and expel it, mechanically, like working a bellows. [["Thanks,"->the light catches]] you say, voice a cracked whisper.]

You pull your fingers through the air as if drawing on some invisible cord. Your somatics are always harsher, jerkier, not as fluid as hers, but the traitorous candles still sputter out before they can jump to the curtains. Jana stalls, mouth framing a question against yours in the newfound dark. You push your palms together, then pull them apart, opening up your fingers one by one as lights blink to life above your heads. It's the same spell Jana used in a timeline that no longer exists, though you can't resist adding some flair, shrinking the glowing motes while simultaneously clumping and scattering them artfully across the ceiling to resemble a map of stars. [["Mood lighting,"->the light catches]] you say. "Very impressive," Jana says. She grins, showing teeth. "Guess I gotta keep up, huh?"

You're a virgin. She's not. There's a million other ways in which you're nothing alike — she's broad-shouldered and beautiful, with her mascara-smudged eyes and sigil-tattooed forearms; you're awkward as a colt, bitten nails and undereye bags in lieu of facepaint. Her magic is like her, tactile and devastating. She might be a warmage someday; you've always been more comfortable in the realms of theory. But it all comes down to that gap in experience, in the end: that you're twenty years old and have never been fucked, while Jana — brash, charming, effortless Jana — has had a string of lovers in just the time you've known her. You probably //could// have lost your virginity earlier, if you wanted. (You wish it was as simple as that word made it sound — 'lost', like you dropped it in the river, put it down one day and then never picked it back up.) Your peers certainly had no issue copulating in their teens. You spent more nights than you care to remember with a pillow crushed over your head in your shared dorm room, trying to ignore the moans from the next bed. But your studies left precious little space to have a social life, even before you started this apprenticeship at the collegium and found yourself constantly laboring to prove it was more than nepotism that got you here. But somehow, Jana's dancing eyes landed on you in the end. Somehow, her hand found yours at that last party in the astronomy tower, and that velvet-soft, pursed, mischievous mouth has kissed yours since then. She's here, and you're here, and she's hopelessly, achingly out of your league. Which means this has to be (link-reveal:"perfect")[ (link-reveal:"Perfect")[ //[[Perfect->watch]]//]].

And as always, you're nothing if not well-prepared. A hidden weight burns in the pocket of your apprentice robes. An antique pocketwatch, heavy confection of tarnished brass and magic-soaked glass and a cosmos of tiny gears. A powerful horomantic artefact you stole from the desk of your mother, the dean. You only lose your virginity to your crush once. You're going to get this right. [[No matter how many tries it takes.->foreplay]]

The warm light catches the planes of her cheeks and in her russet hair, on the shift of muscle under the sigils tattooed on her forearms. You're left tongue-tied (if:visits >= 2)[all over again ]as she undoes the clasps of her school robes and finally sheds them, baring strong, freckled shoulders, a tight-buttoned binder that she leaves on. You want to touch every part of her — the broadness of her thighs, the soft jut of her stomach. She takes your hands, as if recognizing that, and fits them against her hips. "Boobs are a no," she says, "but anywhere else is fair game." She winks. "You can squeeze my ass if you like." You would like that. You would like that very much indeed. You run your hands up her bare thighs, squeeze the perfect, dimpled globes of her butt through her bloomers. She shivers out a pleased sigh as you rake your short, bitten nails over her flesh, one hand finding your breast and gently tweaking the stiffened nipple as if in retaliation. You kiss. Harder, faster, leaving you out of breath again. Jana pushes you down against the pillows and kisses your nose, your chin, your brow. You make an undignified noise when she bites lightly at the tender line of tendon running from jaw to collar. You're sweat-speckled and taut, so aroused you can feel your bones hum, when her hand maps your inner thigh, stroking along the long bone, and stops at the edge of your embarrassingly damp underwear. "This okay?" she asks, the unspoken implication //can I keep going?// [["Yeah,"->she touches between your legs]] you breathe.

The moment the words are out your mouth, you want to die. Apologizing during sex //and// casting aspersions on her pussy-eating technique all in one. Wonderful.(set: $strike to $strike+1) (if:$strike is 1)[Strike one. Strike hot-goosebump-raising, stomach-curdling //one//.](if:$strike is 2)[Strike two. Strike hot-goosebump-raising, stomach-curdling //two//.](if:$strike is 3)[Strike three. Strike hot-goosebump-raising, stomach-curdling //three//.] Whatever Jana says in reply is indecipherable, her face still buried between your thighs. She swallows, pulls back a bit, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand — you catch the wet glisten across her chin and your cunt clenches once again. "Don't worry," she says huskily. Did going down on you do that to her voice, and why is that so //hot//? "I could do this all night." Figure of speech? A boast? Or is she just a generous lover, willing to keep eating her inexperienced, virgin partner's cunt even though they're taking forever to come? You don't know. What do you do know is that, as her hand tightens on your knee once more and that tongue resumes its skillful work, you could lose yourself in this, if only that big fucking brain of yours would shut up for once. If only it would stop grinding its cogs and gears, stop reminding you that the last thing you want to be is a selfish lover.(if:$strike < 3)[ You don't want her to remember this as the night you just laid there for ten, fifteen, who-the-fuck-knows-how-many minutes while she pleasured you. You want to blow //her// mind. You want - gods help you, you want to //impress// her. And now you've gotten inside your own fucking head, which means any chance of you coming is vanishing faster than the last dregs of candlesmoke. Arousal is replaced by anxiety as the coiled spring in your belly winds steadily tighter, and you know you have to end this. But how? Two choices present themselves. Your could [[pretend to orgasm.->forcedstrike5 fake an orgasm]] — it's not //Jana's// fault you're not coming, after all, she's doing everything right, and you can't let her think she failed. Or...you could [[ask to go down on her->ask to go down on her]].](if:$strike is 3)[ And now you've gotten inside your own fucking head, which means any chance of you coming is vanishing faster than the last dregs of candlesmoke. Arousal is replaced by anxiety as the coiled spring in your belly winds steadily tighter, and you know you have to end this. Your tingling fingers move toward the watch as if dragged by hidden wires, rehearsing the pattern you've engraved into the very fabric of time... and you [[rewind->rewind]] <img src="images/hourglass2.png" width="20px">]

Your bones are glassy with tension, your muscles beset by phantom tremors — artefacts of pleasure from timelines you rolled back, sensations your mind remembers but your body shouldn't. You sink back against the pillows, relenting. It should be fine, right? (if:$fakeorgasm is 1)[You can just tell her to stop this time. And //definitely// not fake an orgasm again.] Jana hums low in her throat with satisfaction. She slides her hand up the inside of your thigh and holds you around the knee, [[pushing your legs apart->she goes down on you]].

(set: $honest to 1)"I...um," you say, and your voice is //tiny//. "S-Sorry. For taking so long to come. It feels really good, I just... You can stop, if you're tired." Jana swallows, pulls back a bit, and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. "Feeling good's kind of the point, rosebud." She curls her hand around your knee, leans her cheek against the inside of your thigh and looks at you, fingertips lightly caresssing the tips of your pubes. "Not everything's gotta end in an orgasm, yeah? It's okay to just do things because they feel good." "But..." you mumble. "Babe, I would fucking love to keep eating you out as long as you want me to. But do you want to try something else?" Like what? You could [[ask her what she has in mind->she fingers you]]. Or...you could [[ask again to try going down on //her//->ask to go down on her]].

"I'm open to suggestions," you say. Her grin widens. "I was hoping you'd say that." She pulls herself back onto her knees, rucking the sweat-damp sheets around your butt, and slides a hand up the still-wet meeting of your thighs. Eyes locked on yours, Jana slowly slides a finger into you - pausing to see if you object - all the way to the first knuckle, then the second, then the base. "This okay?" she asks softly. You nod, tongue-tied. "Can I do a second finger?" Another nod is all you can muster. Her finger withdraws slowly, carefully, then returns with company. It burns imperceptibly on the way in, more of a pleasant tingle than real discomfort, and by then you're more focused on the stretch and fullness of it, the feeling of being //filled// - you've fingered yourself before, of course, but could never find the right angle to do what her longer, broader digits are doing now. Jana crooks her fingers upward, finding a spot that feels connected to somewhere deeper within you: a pressure and a tug that seems to unfurl in your belly. The noise that spills from you makes you automatically slap a hand over your mouth. You decide to leave it there as she begins to pump her arm back and forth with slow, deliberate motions, //fucking// you, finger-fucking you, each jolt filling you with deep, thigh-trembling delight that builds, and builds, and builds - And then a banging noise startles your heart from your chest. [[Someone's at the door->forcedstrikefinal bang on the door]].

"Rosalind?" calls a reedy, impatient voice. "Rosalind, are you in there?" It's Thom. Thom fucking Nahan, classmate and floormate, perennial foot-in-mouth-inserter, and currently the person on this material plane with the single worst sense of timing. Between terror and disbelief, you try to remember if you or Jana locked the door. The benighted boy bangs on it again. "Rosalind? Sybil says you were the last person to check //An Introduction to Gematria// out of the library, and there's a table in chapter four I need to - I can smell your fancy candles, so I //know// you're in there, or at least you'd better be, because that's a //fire hazard// if not -" Panicked, you look up at Jana in time to see her roll her eyes, pupils catching the glint of the spell-lights hovering above you. "Rosie's busy, Thom," she shoots at the door, gently pulling her fingers from within you and wiping them on her thigh. "Come back some other time." "...Jana?" Confusion creeps into Thom's voice. "Look, I'll only be a minute, I just need - " "I said she's //busy//, Thom, now fuck off before I translocate you myself!" She'll do it, too; you've seen enough in your first year to know the senior apprentices have few qualms about smacking cheeky juniors down a rung or two, and even fewer about using their hard-won sorcery to do it. Thom squawks out a few more words of garbled protest, then falls silent. Soon after, you hear his footfalls retreat. Not soon enough to salvage the night, though. Nothing can salvage the tragi-comedy of errors this has become. The mood is gone, destroyed, banished beyond hope of recall. You know you should cut your losses, end this while you still have a chance of emerging with a shred of your dignity and a sliver of Jana's respect intact, but can't make your mouth say the words to make it happen. Instead, your fingers creep of their own accord toward where you know the watch lies, hidden beneath your shed robes...and stop as Jana's hand lands on yours. "Rosebud," she says, "Leave that watch alone and look at me." If you weren't flat on your back, your stomach might sink to your toes. It turns instead, then grows heavy as lead. Disbelieving, horrified gooseflesh prickles along your bare skin. "[[W-What watch?->schools of magic]]" you manage to stutter.

Your tongue gingerly swipes her teeth. You panic for a second, wondering if that's bad, but then feel her lips curve in a smile. She tilts her head to fit her heated mouth flush against yours, answers your tongue with her own, their tips meeting in a flash of warmth and wetness. There's something shockingly intimate about this, sharing spit and breath. Your tongues slide together again. Her teeth lightly scrape your bottom lip. Her hands map the curve of your spine, pulling you close, and there's that hunger again. That //wanting//. You want to touch and taste every part of her. You want to dazzle her like she dazzles you, and somewhere in that wanting, you thrust your tongue even further into her mouth, rocking forward on your knees in your enthusiasm. Then she flinches away, making a face, and you realize you overdid it.(set: $strike to $strike+1) Jana wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and chuckles. "//Too// much tongue, on the other hand," she says, "is also a thing." You swallow the spit you didn't realize had gathered in your mouth, mortified. (if:$strike is 1)[Strike one. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You're already messing this up.] (if:$strike is 2)[Strike two. //Fuck//. You're running out of chances to get this right.] "It's your first time," Jana says. "You're learning. Hey. Relax, okay?" She takes your face in her hands, waits to gauge your reaction, then kisses you again. It's laughable how practiced her motions are compared to yours, how deft. She kisses you like she's learning the shape of your mouth, like the arcane equations of when to linger or release, how far to thrust a tongue and when to take a breath, are second nature to her. How many times has she done this? How many other mouths has she learned (and //taught//) before she found your clumsy one? "Is this good?" she asks softly. Your face is burning. Your skin is all goosebumps and shivers, throat tight, mouth dry. But you absolutely have to [[play it cool->play it cool]].

(set: $strike to $strike+1) "Mmmm," Jana says, with a tremor to the very edge of the word that sends a delicious thrill racing to the tips of your toes. You did that. Put that first hairline crack in her control, and if you keep doing this right, you might see her come further apart. "That's good. That's — ah, //fuck//. Your mouth feels so good..." Thank the gods she can't see you, blushing so furiously you half-fear she'll feel the burning of your cheeks against her thighs anyway. The bed creaks as you adjust yourself. There's a crick forming in your neck, but it's worth it to hear her sound like that. You want to hear it again. You want to hear her cry out — And thus emboldened, you hitch up your shoulders and take her clit in your mouth, framing it between your tongue and upper teeth and sucking in. Jana inhales sharply — tonal shift, not the good kind of sharp. Her hand lands on your scalp, tapping lightly in the universal gesture for 'stop'. (if:$teeth is 1)["Less teeth, more tongue, remember?" she says.](if:$teeth is 0)["Less teeth, more tongue," she says.] "As true of eating pussy as it is of kissing, rosebud." You pull away, suck in a too-fast breath that turns into a cough as a stray pubic hair catches in your throat. You press a fist to your mouth, look away to disguise the fact that it's not just your face burning now — everything aches: your larynx, your eyes pricked by frustrated tears, your jaw clenched to hold back a sob. (if:$strike is 1)[Strike one. //Again//. No matter how hard you try, you just keep fucking up.](if:$strike is 2)[Strike two. //Fuck//. Not again, not again.](if:$strike is 3)[Strike three. //Fuck//. Not again, not again. Rewind again? Is it even worth it, when all you do is fuck up no matter how hard you try?] And then a banging noise startles your heart from your chest. (if:visits is 1)[(if:$strike < 3)[[[Someone's at the door.->forcedstrikefinal bang on the door]]](if:$strike is 3)[Someone's at the door. You don't stop to wonder who, or how. You just move, a panicked bird hurtling into flight like a bullet fired from a gun. Your fingers find the leaden weight of the watch — you squeeze, matching the tightening of your throat — and you [[rewind->rewind]] <img src="images/hourglass2.png" width="20px">]](if:visits >= 2)[[[Someone's at the door. Again. //Again//.->forcedstrikefinal bang on the door]].]

(set: $strike to $strike+1)(set: $fakeorgasm to 1)"Oh," you say out loud, and you thought your face was as flushed as it could get, but it burns all the brighter with embarrassment now. "Yes. Yes..." You suck in air till your lungs threaten to burst, then release it all at once, clutch briefly at her hair once more before relaxing onto the pillows. Not a bad performance, all told — or so you hope. Jana raises her head, wipes her mouth again. Her dark, unfathomable eyes studies you for a moment that stretches just long enough to make you uncomfortable, then grins that lopsided grin and settles onto an elbow by your side. Her hand skims your damp thigh, slides up the flat plane of your belly and strokes your sternum. A rill of anxiety prickles your bare skin, because there's something too...deliberately soothing about that touch. Like trying to calm a spooked cat. Like the careful caress is balanced against what comes next. And sure enough, her next words make your stomach turn. "Rosebud," she says, voice still throaty from her exertions. "You know not everything has to end in an orgasm, yeah? It's okay to just do things 'cause they feel good?" She knows. Your throat closes up, jaw muscles tensing from the effort of holding back a frustrated, humiliated sob. (if:$strike is 1)[Strike one. //Again//. No matter how hard you try, you just keep fucking up.](if:$strike is 2)[Strike two. //Fuck//. Not again, not again.](if:$strike is 3)[Strike three. //Fuck//. Not again, not again. Rewind again? Is it even worth it, when all you do is fuck up no matter how hard you try?] And then a banging noise startles your heart from your chest. (if:visits is 1)[(if:$strike < 3)[[[Someone's at the door.->forcedstrikefinal bang on the door]]](if:$strike is 3)[Someone's at the door. You don't stop to wonder who, or how. You just move, a panicked bird hurtling into flight like a bullet fired from a gun. Your fingers find the leaden weight of the watch — you squeeze, matching the tightening of your throat — and you [[rewind->rewind]] <img src="images/hourglass2.png" width="20px">]](if:visits >= 2)[[[Someone's at the door. Again. //Again//.->forcedstrikefinal bang on the door]].]

"I wanna try," you say, too sudden and too loud. (if:$honest is 0)[You swallow, wind your fingers through her hair, pressing gently on her scalp, and she stops.](if:$honest is 1)[You prop yourself up on one elbow and meet her eyes.] "To go down on you. I mean. Can I?" Jana looks quizzically at you from where she's framed between your knees. Her mouth shines slick and reddened, her hair is mussed. If you kissed her now, would you taste yourself on her lips? A part of you really, really wants to find out. "Please," you say, instead. "Well, if it means that much to you." She folds gracefully onto her side, pouring the warm length of her body flush alongside yours, thigh to thigh. Another moonbeam-quick curl of mischief to her mouth. "I know you're a fast learner." "//Very// fast," you say, dry-mouthed. It's not bragging if it's the truth. You're a quick study, and you've never met a challenge you couldn't take personally, which is why you're steely-eyed with focus as Jana lifts her hips to let you roll her off her strong thighs, revealing a triangle of damp curls. Nothing, not even the practical exams in which you stood before a board of examiners that included your mother, has ever made you concentrate the way you do now, mimicking Jana's movements earlier to rub your fingers through those curls, tilt your hand and slide them into the fiery heat between her legs. The wetness you encounter makes your heart slam with delight and an unfamiliar kind of pride. Jana stretches like a cat and sighs, soft and throaty. [[And you go down on her->she tastes strong]].

(set: $yougodownonher to 1)She tastes...strong. Not unpleasantly strong, but not sweet as honey either, like some of the more spun-sugar bodice-rippers you've read suggested. She tastes of heat and musk, like a bitten lip or licking a coin, and other words you run through your head and discard before settling on //alive//. She tastes like a human body that breathes and sweats and lives and moves. She tastes overwhelming. She tastes like //her//. Also overwhelming: the several logistical problems presenting themselves all at once. Like how to keep your nose clear enough to breathe, or how to breathe at all without interrupting your task. Or what to do with the single pubic hair that's trapped itself between your upper teeth and is irritating your soft palate. Jana made eating pussy seem easy. This is anything but — //but// you're nothing if not tenacious. You hold your breath, grip her thighs, and (if:$shegoesdownonyou is 1)[continue re-enacting what you remember her doing to you, [[swirling your tongue under her clit->forcedstrike5]].](if:$shegoesdownonyou is 0)[forge bravely onward, [[darting your tongue in firm, repeated strokes along the slick wetness of her->forcedstrike5]].]

"What? You think you're the first person to use horomancy in the sack?" Jana's mouth twitches up at one corner. You push your knees together and pull them up, suddenly self-conscious, as she settles back onto her haunches. "Shut a bunch of horny nerds in one place for years, teach them to literally reshape the laws of the physical universe to their whims. What happens? They figure out how to use each and every single school of magic to fuck. Hells, horomancy is probably the least interesting of them all. If you //do// use it, well, turning back time is all well and good, but..." She winks at you. "//Stopping// it, though? Finding just the right moment and stretching it out, lengthening it? //So// much better." A fresh blush scalds your cheeks as your brain works furiously to process the implications of what she's saying - it would be tricky, yes, perhaps even impossible with your stolen (borrowed, //borrowed//) watch, which, like all magical artefacts, sacrifices fine control in exchange for raw power. More importantly - You prop yourself up on an elbow, tuck your mussed hair behind your cheek and take a deep breath of the still faintly sweetgrass-scented air. "[[You're not...angry->something wrong]]?" you ask hesitantly.

"Angry? No." Jana hooks her arms over her knees, fingertips brushing the damp and wrinkled sheets. Even half-naked, just a bit sweat-slicked at her temples and collarbones, the sheer presence of her seems to draw all the light in the room. "...worried? Maybe." Her grey eyes meet yours, and you realize with a start that you've gotten this all wrong. Jana's gorgeous. She moves with a confidence you'll never know. She's been around the block a few times and then some where both sex //and// magic are concerned; experience in spades to stack up against your feeble, fumbling attempts. But in this moment, even she... ...is nervous. "If I did something wrong," she says with uncharacteristic hesitation. "You can just tell me, you know? Whatever it was, I promise it wasn't on purpose." "No!" It bursts from you without thinking. Aghast, you scramble further upright, bumping the headboard, nearly knocking a stack of books off the bedside table, and don't care. The lights orbiting the bed flicker as your concentration nearly fails, and you swipe a hand impatiently through the air to restabilize them. You accidentally make some of the globes wobble drunkenly in the process, swell larger and cast both your faces into sharper relief, and don't care about that, either. "No," you say again. You open and close your mouth a few times, heart banging against your ribs. "No, you were...you were [[//perfect//->perfect]]."

She snorts, but you can see the relief on her face. "Nobody's //perfect// at sex," she says. "Especially not on their first time." "It's not your - " "It's my first time with //you//." Jana puts out her hand and grips your wrist. "I don't know what you like yet, and normally I'd just ask, but I'm thinking even //you// don't entirely know what you like yet. So we figure it out together. And that's //fine//." "Yes, but..." It sounds petulant even to your own ears, so you let the words peter off, gaze dropping to your crossed ankles. The fear stuck in your throat, unspoken, is that you only get one shot at this. Only one first time - yes, even with the horomancy. Virginity's a binary state variable; you either have it or you don't. Which means losing it is a big deal. Which means it has to be special. It has to be good. Otherwise... Otherwise, you'll carry that failure forever. That one tarnished mark on your record, impossible to expunge. Rewinding a few seconds at a time is one thing, but you could study for years and never have the power to drag the hands of the clock back whole days, weeks, months. And even if you did, it wouldn't erase the memory. You don't know how to communicate that. But fortunately, [[you don't need to->overachiever]].

"Overachiever," Jana says again, voice gone low and throaty with the same fondness as before. She shifts her body, leaning into your space but not touching you - except for her hands, which reach up to take your face and turn it to her. You shiver at the touch of those strong, callused fingers on your jaw. "Listen up, rosebud, cause I'm only going to say this once," she says. "This isn't a test. This isn't your magnum opus. This? This is an opening act. This is just you warming up for everything to come. You got that?" You nod, tongue-tied. "Is that a 'yes, Jana'?" "...yes, Jana." "'Yes, Jana, you're completely right and I bow to your wisdom'?" "...fuck you." "I thought that was the plan?" She flashes teeth at you in a grin. "...if you still want to, that is." Your gut churns. Your belly and arms are sheeted with drying sweat. You're still uncomfortably wet between the thighs, heart thumping much too fast, the edges of your vision shimmering with the molecular residue of too much horomancy in too short a time. But you're certain of what you say next. "Yes." Jana grins again - slower and wider this time, curling up her cheeks. "[[Good->touch you]]."

She buries a hand in your hair, pulls you in, and proceeds to prove to you that you're not the only fast learner in the room. //We figure it out together.// You had - have - your doubts about the efficacy of that, but you have to admit it makes you flush with more than embarrassment to feel her play you like a fiddle - already an expert in yanking gasps from your throat by yanking on your hair, learning the tenderest spots on your neck, your jaw, your breasts. For your part, you're figuring out that you definitely like it best when she's on top, pushing you back down against the pillows. You like her hands on you -like them everywhere, but //especially// at the nape of your neck (and are half-startled, half-intrigued, to realize, you might even like them around your throat). And because you can take directions, too, you catch yourself (if:$herbreasts is 1)[this time ]before your outflung hands slide from her shoulders to her breasts. You settle them instead in the warm, perfect divots of her hips, where they fit so perfectly it's like they were made for you to hold. "Is this okay?" you ask. You feel her lips curve against yours. "Very." She kisses her way up your neck; burning hot, deliberately slow and //very// wet, making sure you feel her tongue slide over your skin, and undoubtedly enjoying the noises it wrings out of you. "Now, where would you like me to touch you, rosebud?" Is it really that simple? To just ask for pleasure, and receive? Say "[[pull my hair->pull hair]]", or "[[touch my breasts->she touches your breasts]]," or "[[put your fingers in me again->she fingers you x2]]", and have your wishes granted?

It is. "I...I like it when you pull my hair," you say, and Jana is more than happy to oblige. She wraps your hair around her fist, puts your chin in the air so she can kiss your exposed throat, even slides a hand to work between your legs while the other holds your head still, leaving you to shudder and clutch uselessly at her arms. It's not perfect. You rake your fingers across the shaven side of her head, take handfuls of her auburn hair to try return the favor, and only earn a wince. Jana explains to you that the //good// kind of pain - the kind that's a bass note, a broad tingle - is easier to get by pulling on the hair close to the scalp, and on the top of the head. Your throat tightens with familiar anxiety, and you //feel// the lodestone-pull of the watch in arm's reach. Feel the phantom memory of your fingers closing on the metal, a path of least resistance worn through time itself. You resist. You bury your hands in her hair instead, and show her just how well you can take feedback. The magic lights in the air wobble erratically as your concentration quivers, casting the shadow of her eyelashes sharply over her smoky eyes one moment, fading to leave only both of your ragged breathing in the dark the next. You do come, eventually, thank-the-fucking-gods-finally, your whole body seizing up around her hand and your hips tossing wildly side to side. You hold her, and she holds you, smoothing sweat-slick hair off your face, until you stop shaking. "Remember when I said every school of magic has its applications in bed?" she whispers in your ear. She hasn't come yet, refusing to get off before you, as if waiting for something - and the barely-contained hunger in her voice makes your belly tighten, even as you tremble with the residual, flickering contractions of the last orgasm. "Guess which one's my favorite." Even sex-stupid and pleasure-fogged, your brain immediately starts turning gears, worrying at the riddle - you know her specialty is war magic, hemocraft, but thaumaturgy is the most versatile of the schools - and then you stop yourself. If you've learned one thing tonight, it's that you can just ask. "[[//Show me//->transmogrification]]," you whisper back.

It is. You take her hands and move them to your breasts, which is all the answer she needs. Jana cups one of your breasts, thumb moving in circles on the nipple, while she dips her mouth to the other. She alternates teeth, tongue, and blown breath until you're gasping, head flung back. It's not perfect. The pleasure shades just a touch into pain at one point, one of your nipples more sensitive than you'd anticipated, and you're too tongue-tied to tell her to stop before she realizes for herself that you're wincing. She's apologetic, you're embarrassed - even more so when she moves her mouth between your legs instead, and you dig your fingers so hard into her shoulders in the throes of ecstasy that you actually draw blood. Your throat tightens with familiar anxiety, and you //feel// the lodestone-pull of the watch in arm's reach. Feel the phantom memory of your fingers closing on the metal, a path of least resistance worn through time itself. You resist. You kiss the scratches and choose to believe Jana's amused reassurances that she will wear them like a badge of honor. You let her go down on you again, and then you return the favor, the magic lights in the air wobbling erratically as your concentration quivers, casting the shadow of her eyelashes sharply over her smoky eyes one moment, fading to leave only both of your ragged breathing in the dark the next. You do come, eventually, thank-the-fucking-gods-finally, your whole body seizing up around her hand and your hips tossing wildly side to side. You hold her, and she holds you, smoothing sweat-slick hair off your face, until you stop shaking. "Remember when I said every school of magic has its applications in bed?" she whispers in your ear. She hasn't come yet, refusing to get off before you, as if waiting for something - and the barely-contained hunger in her voice makes your belly tighten, even as you tremble with the residual, flickering contractions of the last orgasm. "Guess which one's my favorite." Even sex-stupid and pleasure-fogged, your brain immediately starts turning gears, worrying at the riddle - you know her specialty is war magic, hemocraft, but thaumaturgy is the most versatile of the schools - and then you stop yourself. If you've learned one thing tonight, it's that you can just ask. "[[//Show me//->transmogrification]]," you whisper back.

It is. "Would you...put your fingers in me again?" you whisper, feeling your cheeks burn. And she does. She puts you on your back and finger-fucks you until you ache with delight, until your toes cramp from twisting and you pull her hair, making her gasp. She shows you how to return the favor - how to crook your fingers upward within the hot, slick tightness of her to find that textured spot that makes her buck. It's not perfect. You go too hard, and she has to ask you to slow down. Your arm grows tired and you're too tongue-tied to 'fess up before she realizes for herself that you're faltering. Your throat tightens with familiar anxiety, and you //feel// the lodestone-pull of the watch in arm's reach. Feel the phantom memory of your fingers closing on the metal, a path of least resistance worn through time itself. You resist. You let her gently kiss her way up your forearm and then massage the cramp away, ask her if you can try again. She shows you how to brace your arm by gripping it with the other - shows you the best way, with a hands-on demonstration. The magic lights in the air wobble erratically as your concentration quivers, casting the shadow of her eyelashes sharply over her smoky eyes one moment, fading to leave only both of your ragged breathing in the dark the next. You do come, eventually, thank-the-fucking-gods-finally, your whole body seizing up around her hand and your hips tossing wildly side to side. You hold her, and she holds you, smoothing sweat-slick hair off your face, until you stop shaking. "Remember when I said every school of magic has its applications in bed?" she whispers in your ear. She hasn't come yet, refusing to get off before you, as if waiting for something - and the barely-contained hunger in her voice makes your belly tighten, even as you tremble with the residual, flickering contractions of the last orgasm. "Guess which one's my favorite." Even sex-stupid and pleasure-fogged, your brain immediately starts turning gears, worrying at the riddle - you know her specialty is war magic, hemocraft, but thaumaturgy is the most versatile of the schools - and then you stop yourself. If you've learned one thing tonight, it's that you can just ask. "[[//Show me//->transmogrification]]," you whisper back.

The wideness of her grin tells you that was the right answer. Jana twists the broad copper ring on the middle finger of her left hand - a hemocraft tool, you realize as you see the tiny, hidden blade emerge, raising a pinprick of blood on her thumb. She pulls the red bead down the sigils on the inside of her arm, and you wonder how such a minute drop of blood could smell so strongly of rust, then realize the coppery static raising the hairs on your skin is //magic//. She reaches between her legs. You think she's touching herself at first - and she is, just not for the reason you thought. Jana tilts her head back, lips parting and eyes darkening. She moves one hand over the other, then pulls it away from her crotch - and flesh follows her fingers, fountaining up into the air until emerging from the wet russet curls between her legs, its snub head cradled heavy in the hollow of her palm, is a erect penis. "Transmogrification," she says, breathlessly. You have no words. You barely have thoughts, all higher brain functions deserting you to leave your head blessedly empty as you //stare//. Jana grins again. She wraps her hand around her cock and pumps it slowly, once, then twice, as she puts her other hand on your sternum and pushes you back down. Her knees bump yours apart, knuckles of her cock-cradling hand grazing your damp inner thighs, and the thrill of //anticipation// that rips through you from tip to toe almost makes you come again then and there. "I don't know if this is the first time for you," she says. "But I hope it won't be the last. Rosebud, can I fuck you?" "Yes," you say. "Fuck, //yes//."

<div class="title">FIRST TIMES —Nibedita Sen</div> <img src="images/hourglass2.png" width="20px"> [[Start|Intro]] <img src="images/hourglass2.png" width="20px"> <div class="credit">icons by Icons8 • https://icons8.com</div>