Ravel had considered himself fortunate to get an apprenticeship with Madame Moora. Every young wizard had been hoping to be selected to study under the mysterious mistress of the Ivory Tower, but it had been him she'd chosen and sent for.
Yet now, he wondered if it had been a blessing.
He wasn't sure when the seeds of doubt had first sprouted, but perhaps it had been the very first day he'd arrived at the Ivory Tower, when he'd been greeted by the servitor. He still remembered that pale beauty. A woman of lovely proportions, her figure pale like she'd been carved of marble, and her only attire a loincloth with a belt of silver thread.
He'd stared, shocked at the topless woman, who merely bowed, her eyes lidded and dull as foggy mirrors. "You are Ravel?" she'd said.
"Uh, y-yes."
"The mistress shall see you. Come."
The servitor had turned, her perfect ass swaying as she walked away, leaving Ravel to jolt back to the present and hurry to catch up. They'd walked through marble halls so pure white they seemed to glow with an inner light. Other near naked servitors, men and women, wandered about, their expressions empty as they went about their tasks tending the grounds. Any question Ravel posed to his guide was met with blank silence, as if she never heard him, or even noticed him, but merely walked like some automaton along a set path.
They'd moved up through the tower and to a door framed with golden ivy. The servitor knocked twice, and then opened it without a moment more of hesitation, stepping aside and bowing. Taking the hint, Ravel entered.
The study of Madame Moora was a large room filled with tall, narrow lines. The thin windows rose along the back wall and tall bookshelves like pillars were here and there. Madame Moora herself sat in a rounded chair like a tilted ball cut in half, and at the sight of her, Ravel realized he had never seen a more beautiful woman.
Her hair was a deep black and her skin tanned a golden bronze. A slim cloth slipped between her legs from a gown cut so low it was a miracle or, far more likely, magic her curvaceous breasts did not pop out of them. Her face was strikingly beautiful, her eyes lidded, her finger slender as they held open a book before her. She looked up, and Ravel stiffened instantly at her lidded eyes. It was like her gaze had struck a silver pin through him, and a smile slowly alighted her lips.
"Ravel," she said, rising with a whisper of her dark gown. "Finally. I've been looking forward to meeting you. You may go, Lakia."
"Mistress," the pale woman said, bowing low, and Ravel couldn't help but notice a quiver of pleasure seem to surge through her, the servitor's thighs tightening as if she had nearly cum right there.
But he had no more attention to spare the pale woman, for in the moment Moora was moving towards him, her gown softly swishing in the silent chamber. "Let's get a look at you," Moora said, gently cupping his cheek and turning his head this way and that. "Hmm. Yes. Not bad at all. You are quite cute, my apprentice."
He felt his cheeks burn at that. "M-madame, I uh..."
"Oh, but don't worry," she said, patting his blushing cheeks. "I didn't decide to make you my apprentice just because you're so adorably handsome. Oh no. I was very impressed by your new logistical theory of arcane usage. I always try and get my hands on the cleverest of new students. They have such... potential..."
Ravel swallowed hard, the way she lingered on that word making his heart race and jump. "I ah... I'll t-try not to disappoint you, madame."
"Good boy. In which case, shall we have our first lesson?"
"A-already?"
"We haven't a moment to waste, apprentice. And I simply can't wait to see what clever little ideas you might come up with."
"Oh, well, I..."
"What's wrong, apprentice? Shy? Don't worry. I'll be gentle."
"Huh?"
She laughed, a full throaty sound that seemed to reverberate in his groin. "Don't worry, apprentice. It's a simple thing. A relaxation technique. Perfect for nervous new apprentices to the fold."
"W-well..."
"Ah ah! Madame knows best. Now, let us feel the magic within you. Feel the channels of power that flow through you. Follow my finger, apprentice. Follow the sensation..."
Ravel nodded. That... that seemed fairly standard. Magic of course followed certain paths through the body, and certain techniques were common among sorcerers in order to ease the use of their powers.
But he'd never felt one like this.
His breath hitched as her finger slid along his arm, hairs rising in its wake in a wave of sensitive awareness. "Just relax, apprentice," Madame Moora crooned, pushing in closer, her eyes gleaming like jewels. "Just relax... and follow my voice..."
Ravel realized she was easing him down, and he found himself lying back on a couch he hadn't noticed before. Like everything in the room, it seemed strangely delicate. Tender. Like the stem of a flower ready to be snapped at the slightest force. Yet it took his weight easily, and Madame Moora's as she knelt over him, her finger still tracing his body, drawing lazy spiral patterns that tingled and shocked through him like electric wires.
"M-Madame, I..."
"Shhh. Just repeat after me, apprentice. I am relaxed. In control. I am feeling good all over."
"I uh... I am relaxed. In control. I..."
"Am feeling good all over."
"Feeling good all over..."
And he was.
Ravel realized he was feeling good all over.
Feeling light, like the mana channels in his body were filled with fizzy water. Bubbles popping and sparkling and making his body tingle from end to end.
It felt good.
So very good.
"I am relaxed," Moora said smoothly.
"I am relaxed."
"In control."
"In control."
"I am feeling good all over."
"I am feeling good all o-over."
"Gooood," the sorceress purred.
And Ravel sucked in a breath as he felt her hand move lower.
"Keep going, apprentice," Moora cooed as her finger lazily traced circles around his bulge, spiraling up the swell of his pants.
"I-I am relaxed. In c-control. I am feeling good all... all over..."
"Keep going," she murmured as her finger slid around his tip, teasing him as his balls throbbed, aching with need.
