This story takes place at the Western College of Locks and Keys, a modern academy of magic. Students who choose to pursue this unique program are challenged to follow a strict chastity regimen, to heighten their sensitivity to chemistry, desire, and dom/sub dynamics. These are the sources of their power.
It's midterm project time, and Nathan has been paired with Ruby, a submissive-leaning student who also happens to be the most gorgeous woman in his class. The trouble is, Nathan also leans submissive. Desperate to impress Ruby, he enlists the help of his much more dom-leaning friend, Miranda, to guide him through his role in a very intimate study session.
CW: Brief, nonspecific allusions to the existence of sexual trauma within the universe.
All depicted sexual interactions are consensual, and all characters are above the age of 18.
***
"Pick a card, any card," Miranda says, fanning out our deck of homemade flashcards in front of me.
She's used that same line so many times that I'm starting to wonder if she's woven some subtle magic through it, to make this feel like a game instead of a grueling cram session.
We're sitting in the grass of the north quad at the Western College of Locks and Keys, testing the limits of a limitless pot of coffee and waiting for the bells in the tower above to call us to class.
I pull a card and read it. "Recollection."
"No problem." Miranda cracks her knuckles and puts her coffee-warmed hands on either side of my face. "What do you want to remember?"
"Uh...." Coming up with something you've forgotten is exactly as frustrating as it sounds. I shrug. "I don't know. Just show me home again."
"You already remember what your home looks like," she says.
"Yeah, but you help me remember better."
"Fine," Miranda sighs and leans in close, so that I can feel her breath on my ear as she whispers. "I'm taking you back to your old bedroom. To the bed you used to sleep in. What does it look like?"
I close my eyes, aware for a moment of nothing but the sun on my eyelids and the warmth of her hands, and then do my best to picture that room.
"Well, it's a twin bed," I say.
"You've snuggled this blanket for hundreds of nights," Miranda casts the spell on me with her voice, and I can feel the thick orange knit of that blanket pressing down on me. "You've stared at these walls. You know your future is outside that window somewhere. You've memorized every inch of the view in search of it."
Magic seeps directly into my skull from Miranda's hands, searing hot as always, yet comforting, like tea with honey. It coats the blurry broad strokes of my memory, and suddenly the details come into razor-sharp focus. I get up from the bed, put my hands on the chipped paint of the window frame, and look down at the cracks in the street a story below. I can smell the taco stand on the corner, and feel the threadbare carpet under my toes.
The blanket is still wrapped around my shoulders and hooded up over my head. Its weight and warmth mix together with the feeling of Miranda's hands on me, and the scent of wool blends with her rosemary perfume.
I breathe it in, this room, this moment. I savor what it was like to have college as a bright light in my future, where I was sure to work hard and learn lots and win at everything. Miranda allows me about ten seconds before she pulls her hands away, and drops me back into the quad, where college is my present, the work is real, and so are the chances of failure.
"How was that?" Miranda asks, even though she knows.
"Vivid as always," I confirm.
She picks up the deck of flashcards and holds it out for me to take my turn.
I glance up at the clocktower, briefly hoping that it will save me, before I remember that today only gets harder from here.
"I should probably stop," I say. "I don't want to run dry before the presentation."
"That's physically impossible," says Miranda, playfully tapping my crotch with her elbow.
The enchanted chastity cage that keeps me from draining myself
physically
dry clinks metallically in agreement with her.
"Tell that to my magic," I say. "One minute, it's there, and the next, I'm all out, even though I haven't cum."
"Magic is abundant in the places where people connect," Miranda recites one of the intro class principles of social magic. "What matters is being primed to hold it."
"Yeah, I understand the theory," I say. "And yet."
"You don't run dry, Nate, you just get stuck in your head," says Miranda. "That's what you really need to work on. Come on."
I shuffle the cards, fan them out, and wait for her to select the next form for my mediocrity to take.
"Uplift," she reads.
"All right, give me a second." I stretch my neck to one side, then the other, and breathe in and out in the crisp, sharp way that sometimes helps me focus.
I tuck my hands under Miranda's, and search for the thread of magic that connects us.
There's always a thread, no matter who you're doing magic with. It might be a strand of spiderweb, made of nothing but the faint recognition that exists between any two sentient minds, or it might be a thick steel chain, formed from years of love. Or hate. Any strong emotion, really. Those threads are the essential conductor for every type of energy that can make up part of a relationship. And that energy fuels every kind of magic the College of Locks and Keys teaches.
Miranda and I have been best friends for years, and the thread between us is a sturdy rope of many strands, the kind you'd trust your life to on a mountainside.
"So, uh, the force binding you to the ground is losing its grip," I form an image of Miranda lifting off the ground, and try to use my words to feed it down that rope and into her. "Mass doesn't matter. Weight doesn't exist. There's a rising wave of joy as you realize that you and the ground are just two objects that, you know, happen to be touching. And with, um, the slightest nudge, you can drift apart."
I push upward on her palms, and for a split second, I can feel her whole body rise just high enough for the blades of grass under her to unbend.
Then I start thinking about how bad it's going to hurt her tailbone if I drop her from any higher than this, and she winces as her weight thumps back down.
"You make this so much harder on yourself than you have to," she sighs.
"I'm open to suggestions," I mutter, pulling my hands back and casually crushing them with each other, trying to squeeze the anxiety out through my fingertips.
"All right, how about,
use that thing between your legs?
" Miranda suggests, knocking unabashedly on the front plate of her own chastity belt, through her jeans. "There's no point in keeping it locked up if you're not going to let it work for you."
"Social magic doesn't
have
to be horny," I grumble.
"No, it's just a lot easier that way." Miranda rolls her eyes at me. "So, you know, feel free to ignore the entire undergrad program, the core technique that gives the whole school its name, and possibly the most abundantly potent source of energy in the world, and instead do a doctorate-level presentation on the subtle strength of companionship. You can do whatever you want, I'm not your mom. But if you're having trouble, I
suggest
trying something more at your level."
"In other words, objectify you," I spell it out.
"
Lust
for me," Miranda rephrases, exasperated. "You think I wasn't thinking about pinning you down to that old twin bed of yours and testing out the springs?"
I bury a hot, blushing smile in my hands. Yeah, that seems like the way Miranda would make a Recollection spell work.
"I couldn't tell," I say, mostly honestly.
"Yeah, well, subtlety takes practice." Miranda shrugs. "Would it make you feel better if I showed you the graphic version? So that you're not the only one going there?"
