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Aire has been in the surroundings of the Glisten Palace for two days. They have been an eventful two days. She’s been preferentially spending her time in and around a bar-shaped Room Mimic who’s rather fantastically good at preparing a variety of different drinks, and very committed to looking and acting like a bar. Apparently, she’s not immune to the lure of familiarity.
The basement is essentially a room-sized tentacle pit, which she really shouldn’t have found surprising, but apparently did anyway.
She’s been keeping Christa in a haze of bliss. She doesn’t like it when Christa’s sad. The combination of Aire’s native telepathy with her wearers and Christa’s own telepathy lets her feel it, and it’s nearly as bad as being sad herself. And so, Christa has spent the past two days floating, fucked so pleasantly and so continuously by Aire’s inner tentacles that she can’t think about anything else. It’s satisfying, to reduce Christa to a being of lust and little else. But there’s something missing.
She knows that what she’s been doing to Christa recently is a pale shadow of something she used to enjoy doing once. Somehow, deep down, she knows there’s something that’s a meal, rather than these small nibbles.
What could it have been? It was something about damaging people, harming them, a vague association with leaving them no longer present. It had to do with them enjoying something. What was it?
A vague association there. Two vague associations, actually. Her Mana Drain, and her Sex Magic.
Well, the mana drain one is obvious now that she thinks about it. Too much of that would kill someone. Just leave it on while you pickle someone in so many lust-enhancing effects they decide to keep fucking you despite the danger. But still, that doesn’t have the ring of her favorite thing. No, that was something else.
Did some extreme use of Sex Magic let her do what she thought she was doing to Christa? That feels possible. Right, even. But most of her knowledge decayed while she was locked behind that barrier, and she’s forgotten how.
So, she experiments. She can apply pure sexual pleasure through Sex Magic, and there are all these lovely potential victims out here.
She doesn’t, actually, need victims, she discovers. She offers to blast a lover with her magic, and ever so worriedly warns them that even though it feels good, it might be dangerous. They respond by telling her that as far as they’re concerned, their brain is for being horny, and they won't lose anything that matters as long as she’s at least a little careful. She has to fight off the urge to pout.
It does, however, work. Or at least she thinks it does. Even after they come down from the high of perfect pleasure, the lover is stupider, hornier, thinking less and feeling more. Not just insensate or so temporarily overwhelmed they can’t think of anything else like Christa. No, after it all, when they come down from the pleasure and sleep it off, they’re still changed by it.
It’s lovely.
The next day she tries it again on a few other people, attempting to sound out the point at which things go from something someone bounces back from as soon as they’re done experiencing it to something that needs recovery time and from there to something that causes lasting damage. She’s careful not to push too much past the point of just enough damage to be noticeable; her story is that she’s doing something risky that people want and have consented to. If she pushes too far the lie of her good intentions will be obvious.
She wants to be good at this. She wants to be able to say to people that this much is fine, but any more wouldn’t be. And have them beg for more anyway. Watching people’s minds as they make that choice, as they come apart under the consequences of it, is the thing she wants most in the world.
After a long day of experimenting, she leaves her lovely volunteers together in a rather large tentacle pit and heads off back to the ‘bar’ to relax.
