Engraved Memories Bathed in Moonlight
Moonlight poured over the engraved memories. For Ariel, suppressing her sexual desire wasn't particularly difficult. Especially since she had no interest in such things to begin with. And yet, perhaps because of that, the memory of shaking her hips atop Asha clung to her mind like black ink splattered across a pristine white canvas.
That was undoubtedly part of why she'd hurried back to Asha's workshop from her own hideout—not just for research, but because those sensations kept resurfacing, along with the image of her apprentice panting beneath her. If I stay a little distance away, it'll fade, Ariel had thought. And to some extent, she was right. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.
But as her experiments dragged on, things grew more troublesome. There were limits to the data she could gather by dosing others with the potion, so she had no choice but to test it on herself. When she laid her hand on her essence to collect it, her apprentice's image flashed before her eyes—disheveled, gasping lewd cries around Ariel's rod. The memories she'd thought faded sprang back into sharp focus, like flipping through a long-forgotten graduation album pulled from a drawer.
It helped with the collection, but it filled her with self-loathing. She hadn't raised her from infancy, true, but... she was her one and only apprentice. She'd never intended things to go that far. Yet contrary to her conscious thoughts, those memories lingered deep in her mind. ...Once I've gathered enough, I won't need to anymore.
Having stockpiled plenty of the stuff as samples, Ariel resolved to make no more and touch it no further. The twitching spurts made clothing a hassle, but she lived alone anyway—no one to mind. Ignoring the rigid ache was a bit painful, but she brushed it off.
The incident happened not long after, on a weary night. Dragging her fatigued body to the bedroom, Ariel—swimming in a sea of alcohol—fell asleep in an instant. Or so she thought.
What gripped her in a hazy slumber wasn't true sleep. She dreamed. Cotton-candy pink hair shimmered into view. Lowering her gaze revealed buttocks so soft her fingers might sink in and bounce back. Lifting it again showed a deeply concave waist and the graceful curve of a back. Lilac-pink locks fluttered over it like a brushstroke. From the parted cleft dripped thick, honey-like fluid—drip, drip.
Without thinking, Ariel gripped the ass hard. A muffled moan escaped as her fingers dug in. A bizarre heat surged through her body. Before she knew it, she'd plunged her rod inside and was shaking her hips. Realizing she was clutching that soft flesh and pistoning wildly, she tried to stop—but the dream obeyed no such will.
Slap, slap. Hips and pelvis crashed together roughly. Amid a familiar voice and the mounting urge to release, Ariel jolted awake. Her rigid shaft was gone. In its place lay a puddle of thin, milky fluid, like a dying gasp.
Still twitching, Ariel clamped down on her hips. Self-loathing crashed over her. She hadn't seen the face, but whoever lay beneath her had clearly been...
Ariel shook her head. I mustn't use it if I can help it. But that proved easier said than done. To destroy it, she'd inevitably have to create more. And so her experiments continued. She occasionally managed to make it droop limply—a small victory—but never fully eradicated it. And that birthed new dreams.
This time, the woman in the dream had Ariel's rod in her mouth. Ariel strained not to glimpse the face hidden by hair, but her dream-body ravaged the woman's throat anyway. She gathered the pink locks like a handle and thrust roughly back and forth. The soft tongue coiled around her. Sticky saliva trailed down the shaft. So fierce were the motions that foam bubbled at the tip from her leaking precum and the woman's spit. It felt like plunging into warm bathwater with just the right resistance.
The dream-woman gagged—glurk, glurk—yet never pushed Ariel's hands away. At the moment of climax, she even gripped Ariel's waist, swallowing the load straight down her throat—gulp, gulp.
Ariel awoke. Once more, her vanished rod and the milky aftermath greeted her. Her dark circles deepened. Troubled, she lit some spirit grass. Smoking it blurred the dream's afterimages. Yet the stubborn rod persisted, gifting her more lascivious visions.
One night in the workshop. Another by the lakeside. Even in the academy's empty lecture hall. Ariel had no face left to show her sole apprentice. The face stayed blurry, but context made it obvious who always welcomed her rod...
Fearing a visit—and gifts—she'd sent a letter first, buying trinkets with profits from peddling the potion at fair prices. Despite her efforts... her apprentice came anyway.
At first, Ariel was dazed. Then, seeing that vivid face, she snapped to. Ah, she's here after all. Lighting spirit grass, she desperately tried not to remember. But her damnable apprentice stirred it up. Questioning the circumstances forced dreams to mind, overlaying the dream-woman's face with her apprentice's.
Ariel couldn't meet Asha's eyes. Every sway of that cotton-candy lilac-pink hair made her rod twitch. The girl's oblivious approach, wafting her scent, drove Ariel mad. Her apprentice's sudden tears snapped her back, but the throbbing heat lingered. Thankfully, the others provided distraction—Ariel hastily ushered them in to mask the awkward air.
With that crisis averted, Ariel slipped out late that night. She had to deal with this rod now.
* * *
"I'm going for a short walk."
"At this hour?"
"Any issue?"
"None? Go ahead."
Master must be getting on in years—trouble sleeping, it seemed. She enjoyed walks well enough, but rarely at night.
...Truth be told, I didn't know her exact age. Elves and all, and her archaic speech made her seem ancient. I just assumed. In human terms, she might be spry as ever. Not that it mattered.
Anyway. With Master gone, guiding the group to beds fell to me. Oddly, though I'd never seen guests overnight in all my years here, guest rooms existed. No one had ever stayed the night before, but tonight I finally witnessed it—strange feeling.
Veronica, eyes alight with curiosity, scanned the hideout as I led her to her room. ...Her snooping didn't stop indoors, but who was I to complain?
Next, Claudia—nursing Master's booze, cheeks flushed. The alcohol made her clingy, a real hassle. ...Her breasts were soft pillows, though. Anyway, I barely got her into bed. She slapped the sheets, whispering to stay—ignored, door shut.
Finally... Cecil. Caught in the vibe of the thoughtless pair, she blinked sleepily, head nodding.
"Cecil, bed."
"Mmm... Asha-nim..."
...Should've handled Claudia last. Dragging the mumbling Cecil to what used to be my room by chance. Door open—familiar interior unchanged after years. Nostalgic ache hit.
I tucked the white-fingered, eye-rubbing Cecil into bed, then glanced around. "...So this is where it was."
Fiddling with a grimoire I'd thought lost and old tools, I shut the door. We could explore together when she woke—surely curious.
Stretching, I headed to the dim living area. No sign of Master. Not in her bedroom or workshop.
Still walking? I knew her route—took it myself when stuffy.
"Fancy a night stroll myself?"
Lost in memories, I stepped out thoughtlessly. Master's sentries made it safe. Moonlight guided me down the familiar path. Night air clung sticky yet fresh. Soon, dampness underfoot—the lakeside neared. Past the brush, it'd appear. And there—a silhouette, probably Master.
"Mas—"
Opening to call her, I snapped my mouth shut. ...Hard to say it myself, but... she was doing that. Hard to see details, but... y'know, the telltale grip. Mortifying. Face burned. Shouldn't have come.
Pretending not to see and turning—vines snaked around me. Too late; they bound me tight, dragging me into the open. The moonlight... was bright.