Amber's Enchantment

Prologue

"He'll see you now, Sir," the slave said as she exited the room beyond the door. Heversham Ranslan nodded and rose, his mind on the upcoming conversation. After a month of travel, he still wasn't sure whether telling anyone of the recently discovered secret was a good idea. The potential to tear the fabric of Destran society apart was monumental. Still, the damage that the secret had likely caused over the centuries was unimaginable. At the very least, the Guild president should be told; which is why he was here, in this office, the day before the clan moot was scheduled to start.

The man behind the door stood as Heversham entered, his hand extended. One of the constants in human society across the dimensions was the significance of the handshake. Some saw it as a gesture of peaceful intentions; others saw it as a personal affront; but all societies placed some significance on it. The greeting exchanged, Jost Lundren opened the conversation.

"So, Clan leader Ranslan, what would bring you to see the Guild president on the eve of the moot. Not hoping to curry favor on trade routes I hope?"

"No, president, not that. I'm afraid my business is far more important than trade routes and more potentially volatile than a debate over the prices of Sluggindi."

He president stopped in mid-sitting, startled by the claim made in all seriousness. The wrong trade route could send a clan into debt for decades and the price of the rare vintage of wine was capable of changing by five times in a single day on the open markets. Recovering, he finished sitting and brought a small stone out from a drawer of his desk. Tapping it twice on the desk, a silent wave of force spread from it, encompassing the room in a silence field. No one would be able to spy on the conversation about to take place.

"What could be so important and volatile, Heversham? It's not like you to make such grandiose statements."

"I don't make this one lightly. I have evidence that the Wizard's Guild has been systematically and intentionally deceiving the public. The only motivation that I can see for what they've done is to improve their position on certain matters of trade."

"Deception? Heversham, they're wizards; they're incapable of speaking plainly. That's to be expected."

"I'm not talking about the normal hedging that any practitioner engages in during the course of business. I'm talking about intentional deceit in their

printed

words."

The emphasis on the printed words wasn't lost on president Lundren. While not everyone was as fastidious, anyone with any knowledge of the merchant clans knew just how much importance they put on the written word. A contract, written in ink and signed, was a bond meant to be stronger than the marriage bond; one which could only be dissolved by the death of one party. No one of intelligence and sanity would lie in writing to a merchant.

Go, on," the president replied, his voice clipped and tense.

"Inclon Meracula, first advisor to Thabian Y' Grantlo, asked our clan for something quite unusual; current copies of

An Alchemist's Guide to Reagents and Mana,

the ones that only wizard's can possess. We weren't able to obtain any, but in an attempt to salvage the contract, I had our scribe, Brotin, copy past editions of the scrolls. Brotin also compiled the results; the shocking results. The mana levels in reagents change over time. The older editions that we're allowed by the Wizard's guild are actually wrong in many of the details. Clearly, the result of such errors would leave the wizards as the makers of the best potions, since only theirs would be accurately brewed."

"Just how sure are you of these facts?"

"Of the differences, absolutely; I've looked at different editions of the scrolls myself. I'm no alchemist, though, so I can't guess at what the results of using the wrong mana concentrations would be. I suspect that any significant differences in potions would have shown up by now. It may well be that the guild's potions are simply more efficient."

"Or it may be that problems have cropped up already; potion problems may be why House Grantlo asked for the information in the first place. I assume you've been trying to decide just what to do?"

"Yes, president. If I release this information to the moot, the relationship between the clans and the guild will be changed; and not in a good way. The clans generally don't have their own alchemists. If we were cut off by the guild, it could be disastrous for us."

"I agree. How many people know of the lies?"

"Myself, Brotin and at least some people from House Grantlo."

"We need to use this information intelligently. For the time being, we'll hold this tight in our fists. Have your scribe determine if the changes can be predicted. If so, your clan needs to hire its own alchemist. I want the clans independent of the guild for our potions. We may not be able to be self supporting when it comes to active magic, but we can make our own potions."

"Yes, president. I'll start on that right away. Do you want regular updates?"

"No, messengers can be intercepted. Don't contact me about this again until you have things in hand."

"Yes, sir."

Chapter 1

Advanced Training

The red ball of fire that was Fron loomed visibly in the sky; the sky whose color was a pale imitation of that blood red hue. The air burned, literally, under the baleful gaze of what was for most of time, the little sister of Frel, the blue giver of life. Sages, scientists really, from another dimension would be puzzled over the burning sky. There seemed to be nothing consumed, yet the sky was literally afire. Flames danced in the wind, moving through the air like angry red, orange and yellow clouds; igniting all that they touched.

In the courtyard of House Grantlo, the very sand itself was aflame. The trees and shrubs, so vibrant when Amber had last seen them, had succumbed within days of the first flames. They were little more than blackened stumps being slowly eroded by the heat fueled winds. If anyone had actually been there, they'd have died in the oppressive heat, near the boiling point of water, even if they had managed to avoid igniting themselves. Ironically, their last thought may well have been to marvel at the beauty of the burning.

*****

Amber's arms tugged involuntarily at the cuffs at her wrists. The lock between them held and her hands remained useless in the task she was trying to perform. The cock in her mouth was rigid; hard and long as she bobbed her head on it. Her tongue made swirling motions around the head, causing Thebes to gasp at the intense sensations. His fists tensed as he strove to hold his orgasm off for as long as possible. The timing stone, unnoticed by either slave, was nearly all red. The contest was nearly over, one way or another.

Amber, sensing that Thebes was close and struggling, took a breath and drove her face down while swallowing in her throat. Thebes' cock plunged into the open throat and found itself caressed by Amber's throat muscles. His balls rose and his cock tensed, ready to erupt in pleasure when he managed to summon one more burst of control and keep himself in check. It was short lived, as Amber continued to swallow his cock, but that short burst of effort was enough. Just before his cum spurted down Amber's throat, the timing stone reddened on the last bit of its surface, indicating that he's held out for an entire hour.

Amber pulled her head back, wanting to savor the taste of Thebes' cum. Like all slaves, Amber had learned to love the taste of both a man's and woman's sexual fluids. Once she'd milked the last of his semen and cleaned his cock, she pulled off and knelt, glancing briefly at the timing stone. With a rueful smile, she congratulated her fellow slave.

"You did it, Thebes. It was close though."

"Yes, you've gotten really good."

Bressala smiled at her charges. "Yes, well done Thebes. I think you're ready for your control final. I'll set it up with Marlena tomorrow." She turned to Amber. "I'm afraid you lost the game, little slave. You know what that means."

"Yes, Mistress. A paddling with no orgasm at the end."

"You don't look too terribly upset by the prospect."

"No, Mistress. I'll miss the climax, but I do enjoy the paddling, even when it leaves me frustrated."

Bressala knew Amber wasn't putting on airs. Amber was one of those rare slaves who had achieved pleasure/pain symbiosis spontaneously. Her mind and body transformed the pain of a whipping or paddling to pleasure and she could cum from just the pain such

punishments

inflicted. On another world and in another time, Amber might've been called a pain slut. It would've been an inaccurate label, as she was able to enjoy orgasms from more traditional means as well; pain wasn't her only option for sexual pleasure.

"Go fetch any of the paddles and prepare yourself for punishment, Amber," she said after releasing Amber's hands.

"Yes, Mistress," she answered as she leapt to her feet and ran to the other room. She returned with a paddle that Bressala had never used on her before. The instrument was long, nearly a foot, and studded on both sides; though one side's studs were sharp while the other had smooth studs. Unlike any of the other paddles, this one has holes in the surface. Amber couldn't know that the holes made this paddle far more painful as they allowed the miniscule cushion of air to freely escape.

"Amber, this is a number four paddle. Are you sure about this? The pain will be much greater."

"Yes, Mistress, I'm sure. I want to push myself, to go beyond what I've grown used to."

"I see," Bressala smiled. "There's nothing wrong with that. Take the position."

Amber leaned against the wall, her hands out in front and her ass pushed towards her trainer. Bressala swung the paddle, rounded studs towards Amber, with a practiced arm. The resulting slap was meatier than Amber had heard in the past and she let out a cry as her ass flamed from the blow. A second blow came on the heels of the first and Amber threw her head back with a gasp. Her butt was already deep red and there were eight more strokes to go. The third strike almost caused her to lift her feet, something she wasn't supposed to do. Her pussy was starting to moisten, a reaction she'd originally been appalled by. Now she embraced her reaction to pain as something that helped her be the best slave she was capable of being.

Her struggles to stay in position caused her ass muscles to tense, increasing the pain from each stroke. By the fifth stroke, Amber's tears and cunt juice were both flowing liberally. She'd just started orgasm control training earlier in the week. She tried to use the training to stave off the orgasm that was trying to erupt from within her. She bore down on her cunt muscles to prevent the contractions from starting. Moans of desire warred with her sobs of pain for dominance until the pain stopped, leaving her gasping for breath.

"Very good, Amber. I'm proud of you."

Bressala looked closely at Amber's rear end, making sure there were no serious injuries from the paddling. She wasn't worried about Amber's physical well being; the collar would heal anything that happened to her. But any significant healing by the collar would draw on Amber's own mana, draining energy from her and leaving her exhausted for a time. The slave collars they all wore guaranteed that a slave could not suffer serious injury. Even a knife to the heart would be healed completely before it had a chance to kill the slave.

"Thank you, Mistress. Oh God, this is hard. I want to cum so much."

"I know, Amber, but you can't right now. Do you need me to bind you?"

Amber shook hr head. "No, Mistress, I won't bring myself off. I'll just wish I was doing it," she added with a wan smile.

"We've all been there, girl. You're coming along very well, Amber. I'm very pleased with your abilities in pleasing both men and women sexually. I've scheduled your hand testing for tomorrow afternoon and your oral technique testing for the day after. Once you clear those, we'll increase your training in orgasm control and start you on cunt manipulation."

"Cunt manipulation, Mistress?"

Bressala turned to the other female slave she was in charge of. "Yolanda, please lie down on the bed." To Amber she instructed, "Amber, I want you place three fingers in Yolanda's pussy. Don't do anything, just have them there. Tell me what you feel." Once the two were in position, she ordered, "Start, Yolanda."

At first, Amber thought that maybe Yolanda hadn't understood what she was supposed to do since she didn't move on the sleeping pallet. Then Amber felt something moving against her fingers. In shock, she realized that Yolanda's pussy was squeezing her fingers rhythmically. It was as if her fellow slave's cunt was trying to gently pull her fingers deeper inside.

"Yolanda, that's incredible. What are you doing?"

"This is cunt manipulation, Amber. I'm rippling my muscles to stimulate what's inside me. Imagine if your fingers were a man's cock."

"Wow, that would be incredible." Turning to her trainer, she asked, "I can do this too?"

"Any slave can learn that, provided she has a pussy, of course," Bressala answered with a chuckle. "This is what those training aids you've been wondering about are for. They can sense how your muscles are moving and provide feedback." Bressala took a pensive mien as she asked her next question. "Amber, are your memories going to cause much trouble with this training?"

Unlike the other slaves in House Grantlo, Amber had all her memories available to her. All slaves brought in by the Venturers were given a memory potion that caused them to forget everything before they woke from the potion. The combination of Amber's intense memories of an abusive slavery in Ravenshore (a city in another dimension) and the weakening of the memory potion by the changes in mana levels in the reagents, Amber broke through the block on her memories. Those memories included horrific training methods used by the trainers in the Ravenshore slave brothel. So strongly had they associated incorrect technique with punishment, that Amber wasn't able to make herself learn advanced techniques of pleasing men. Bressala's solution was to live train Amber as much as possible. Unfortunately, live training wasn't an option in cunt manipulation; male slaves were unable to sense the finer distinctions between muscle action that was pleasing and safe, and that which was pleasing and unsafe for the female slave.

"I don't think so, Mistress. The trainers in Ravenshore didn't care what we did with our pussies other than to let the men use them as they saw fit."

Bressala still cringed at the atrocities Amber had lived through in that evil place. The concept that slavery could be a degrading and belittling institution on other worlds had come as a shock to her. Bressala had no idea how people could be so cruel to other people. Truly, slaves in House Grantlo led sheltered lives.

"I'm glad. Thebes won't be able to tell the subtle differences. It's possible, with the wrong technique, to actually injure the muscles in your pussy. While the collar can heal them, if they happen repeatedly for long enough, the collar will act as if the injury is normal and not heal it anymore."

"Wow, I'm glad too. Are the techniques hard to learn, Mistress?" she asked with a bit of worry in her voice.

"They are harder than what we've been teaching you so far; mostly because girls aren't used to using their pussy muscles on purpose."

*****

Inclon Meracula tipped the vial of horus extract carefully, letting only three drops spill into the jar on the table. The juice from the horus plant was the last ingredient he needed to add to the new batch of memory potion. Inclon had worked tirelessly to work out what the new formula had to be in order for the potion to have the effect it was intended to have. Once the three drops had been added, it would need to be heated on a low flame for five hours.

The copies of

An Alchemist's guide to Reagents and Mana

he'd obtained from the merchant, Heversham, had been a godsend. Pursuing the scrolls meticulously, he was able to determine that the changes in mana levels varied consistently over a 300 year period of time. By using the scrolls that were 300 years out of date, he should have the same mana levels as the reagents had today. What he found curious was that not all the changes were in the same direction, and not all mana levels changed. He'd concentrated on getting the memory potion working, so he wasn't sure if there was a pattern to the changes. Solving the larger mystery could wait until the immediate problem had been solved. Two Venturers were due back and may have new slaves with them. The last thing they needed was to have to deal with Amber's situation again.

With the potion brewing on its own, Inclon was able to turn to another task the variations in reagents had caused; the house's reagent supplies were off. Some reagents were now in short supply as they needed more to be used, while others were grossly oversupplied because they had more mana than he'd thought. With the merchant caravans currently at their burning time moot, he'd have to wait at least a month to even order new supplies, let alone receive them. He set about cataloguing where the house would have to conserve to make the existing supplies last. He had a suspicion that the fixative used an inordinate number of now short-supplied reagents. This was going to make his life so difficult.

*****

Vesti Jusilta was mad. His jaw was clenched in anger and sparkles of energy flashed at his fingertips. "What do you mean, 'Ursala is recalled?' You can't just recall my assistant."

The face in the orb of magical energy before him smiled. The smile wasn't a pleasant one; rather that smile of triumph meant to convey a sense of superiority over a foe. That both people were members of the Wizard's Guild made them no less enemies. "Vesti, we most certainly can. Ursala is needed elsewhere as soon as possible. You're to convey her to the guild house by transport spell at your earliest opportunity. Unless, of course, you intend to defy the guild."

"No, Ponet, I won't defy the guild. But surely you can see how much I need an assistant? My work here with the Lustren family is important. Louvet production will suffer."

"Honestly, Vesti, that's your problem, not the guild's. You wouldn't be in this position if you took the guild more seriously. It's your attitude that's denied you a choice placement."

"I give the guild all the respect it deserves, Ponet, and not an iota more. The guild needs to pay more attention to what goes on beyond the doors of their laboratories and guild halls."

It was an old argument; one Vesti wasn't going to win anytime soon. For centuries, Destran's power blocks had an ordered arrangement of power and control. The last time the power structure had been upset was when the slave houses came to power. That century had been one of conflict and upset. If it had happened during a burning time, society itself might have failed. None of the power blocks, the Wizard's Guild, the United Merchant Clans, the Royal Families and the slave houses, were willing to take that chance again.

"You sound like a renegade wizard, Vesti. Keep up talk like that and you'll find your spark quenched. I'll be expecting Ursala within the hour."

The orb popped, ending the communication. Vesti let a flash of energy escape his fingers, discharging against the wall where it left a scorch mark. Bringing himself under control, he stopped the mana he'd touched from moving and watched the sparks fade from his fingertips. He considered what he could do. He hadn't been exaggerating to Ponet; without an assistant, he wouldn't be able to maintain the magical technology the Lustren family depended on to produce Louvet. Louvet was one of the rarer alchemical reagents; and one of the hardest to obtain. Louvet ore had to be purified to very exacting standards or it would be worse than useless in potion brewing; sometimes going as far as to produce an opposite effect. The refining bowls were finicky pieces of magical equipment that required tuning at regular intervals. The tuning process was something any wizard could handle; if they had four arms. An assistant was needed to deal with some of the somatic requirements while the primary wizard actually moved the mana.