Magical Girl Syn
by Jennifer Kohl
Ruthie couldn’t understand what was happening. One moment she was being attacked by a horrible monster, certain she was about to die, and then there was a blinding-yet-beautiful light. She tumbled for a moment, but a pair of arms caught her, strong and soft, cradling her as if she weighed as little as a baby.
She looked up into the face of her savior, the face of an angel—and yet there was something strangely familiar about it. “Cynthia?” And then she began to sob.
“Shh,” Syn said gently, stroking her best friend’s hair. “You’re safe now.” She kissed Ruthie softly on the forehead, and Ruthie felt a calming wave of serenity pass through her. Her tears stopped; a moment later her eyes fluttered closed and she slept.
“She’ll be all right,” said Grankitty. “The kiss of an angel heals more than physical wounds.”
Syn nodded. She could feel the healing power—her healing power—in Ruthie, smoothing away the memories of panic and helplessness before they could settle in as traumas.
“But you,” Grannkitty continued. “How did you do that!? My predecessor told me her predecessor could shape weapons out of the light, but she never learned how! What did you do?”
“I’m not sure...” Syn said slowly, still looking at Ruthie’s peaceful face. She was even more beautiful than usual, her warm-looking lips slightly parted, her delicate features relaxed and at peace, her dark skin nearly as flawless as Syn’s own angelic perfection. Her breasts, small but perfectly formed, rose and fell slowly with her breathing, and her skin was warm and soft in Syn’s arms. Syn’s gaze continued traveling down Ruthie’s taut belly, the full swell of her hips, her legs—graceful, slender, and long compared to her height, even if overall they were short.
And then Syn’s gaze traveled back up, inevitably, to the dark curls between them, and the slit Syn realized she wanted desperately to taste.
“Syn!” Grankitty snapped. “Focus!”
Syn blinked. “Sorry,” she said. “I just...” She trailed off. “Wait, I’m not... I mean, I don’t—I never—“
“Looked at women this way? Perhaps. But as Syn you do. You look at everyone that way. And the longer you’re around them...”
Syn struggled not to squirm, the bare skin of her arms tingling where they touched Ruthie. “I... I’d better get her back to the dorm.”
Grankitty hopped onto Syn’s foot and began climbing her leg, the odd sensation a welcome distraction from her shifting, confusing feelings about Ruthie. “Not without me you aren’t,” she chided. “Quit forgetting me every time you run off!”
“Sorry, Grankitty,” Syn replied before speeding away, carrying both her mentor and her friend. With her speed and endurance, it took only a few minutes to reach the convent, and it was easy to slip into the window of the room she shared with Ruthie and lay her out on the top bunk. By the time she did, however, that tingle had spread down from her arms and taken up residence just under her stomach.
She forced herself back away from Ruthie. The idea of fingering or licking her was almost irresistibly hot—but it was wrong. She was unconscious! Not to mention I’d become her slave, Syn thought, and flushed as a wave of heat passed through her at the idea. She bent down and moved Grankitty from her ankle to her shoulder. “I’ll miss her,” she said sadly.
“What do you mean?” Grankitty asked.
“I mean... I can’t stay here! Not if monsters are going to come for me. Syn wouldn’t be allowed, and as Cynthia I might not be able to draw them away fast enough next time.” Not to mention I really don’t want to end up trying to jump Ruthie’s bones, and I don’t know how much longer I can resist... God, she’s so pretty...
Grankitty nodded sagely. “I understand, child. Just know that cutting yourself off from the world... there’s a steep price for that. It’s a solitary, lonely way to live.”
Syn sighed. “But I think I have to.” Her eyes flicked back to the figure in the top bunk. “Before...” She trailed off, then shook her head. “Let’s go.”
“...I don’t know. Somewhere away from people before I get...” Syn waved her hands vaguely. “Y’know.”
“I know.” Grankitty paused, then said, “I may know a place.”
Meghan stared at her computer in disbelief. Then she grabbed the phone to call Morgan.
“What?” Morgan barked irritably into the phone.
“Feiticeiro,” Meghan answered. “You said when you checked, he had no records?”
“Yeah,” Morgan said. “It was like he just popped into existence a few days ago.”
“Well, he has them now.”
“What.” Morgan immediately began pulling up records on her computer, and sure enough: Feiticeiro had a driver’s license, a Social Security number, a birth certificate, even an LLC in his name.
“Are you sure he didn’t have records, that you didn’t miss any?” Meghan asked.
“Yeah. After you gave me a name I searched with that as well. Nothing.”
Megan stuck the eraser end of a pencil in her mouth and idly began to chew, an old habit when she was thinking and pretty much the only reason she kept pencils around. “Those backdoors of yours.”
“The ones that are illegal and therefore I don’t have?”
“Yeah, those. Can you see when records were updated?”
“Not exactly,” said Morgan. “I can see the date a document was issued, but if somebody’s making fake records they could put whatever they want there.”
“Hmm. So we don’t have any real proof these records are fake... but they’re definitely fake.” Megan brushed back the bangs that hung over her right eye—the only part of her hair long enough to really run a hand through.
“This is really bad,” said Morgan. “These are all different levels—the business was handled by the city court, the license was issued by the state, and Social Security is federal. We’re dealing with a they here—and they have people in every level of government.”
“Fuck,” Meghan agreed. “This could be a career-maker.”
Morgan sighed. “Just be careful, okay? Don’t trust anyone.”
“Don’t worry,” Meghan said. “Watch your back too, okay?”
“Yeah,” said Morgan. “Call me if you find anything, I’ll do the same.”
“Will do,” said Meghan, and hung up. She stared at her screen, still chewing on the pencil, trying to decide how to proceed, who to talk to.
“So, I understand you’ve been checking up on me,” said a smooth voice from behind her.
Meghan whirled around in her office chair. Feiticeiro was leaning against the entrance of her cubicle, his expression calm, almost bored.
Meghan scrambled for her phone. At this hour, she was alone in the newsroom—but security could be there in moments. “Don’t you try anything! I’ll—“
“Shush,” Feiticeiro said. “You’re curious. Let’s talk, and I’ll answer all your questions... once you’ve answered some of mine.”
Syn concentrated, light flowing around her outstretched hand. It slowly gathered, flickered, started to stretch from a formless blob to something else—and then exploded, flinging her onto her back on the rooftop.
“It was close that time!” Grankitty said. “You almost made something.”
Syn squirmed on the ground, rubbing her thighs together. “No, I didn’t. I wasn’t close.”
“Making the light is an improvement, though! You couldn’t before, and now you can do it at will.”
“I guess,” said Syn.
“You just need to focus! Try again!”
“It’s sunrise! I’ve been trying all night!”
“Try again,” Grankitty repeated.
Pouting, Syn sat up and extended her hand. She concentrated on the feeling that swept through her when she called the light—calm, relaxation, peace. She felt the tension and annoyance flow out of her once again as the light gathered.
It felt good to relax, good to be peaceful. But it also meant no distractions from her body, from that spark of need inside her that never went away. She tried to ignore it, to focus on the light, but as her power gathered, it grew. She could feel the tension melting away into golden light, but she could feel it dripping down her body as well, hot and wet as it passed from her brain down into her chest, her belly, her pussy... she had to concentrate but it was so hard to think, so easy to luxuriate in pleasure and arousal and...
The light burst again. Syn groaned. “I can’t focus enough. Can’t relax enough. I need to—“
“No, said Grankitty.
“Please?” Syn wheedled. “I need it, you don’t even know how this feels...” If I could just rub a little...
“I know exactly how it feels, but have you forgotten what happens if you cum?”
“I, um, I wouldn’t! I just need to—“
“You know you won’t be able to stop once you start! And then you’ll be stuck as Syn even longer!”
“Well, okay, but, like, is that a bad thing?” Syn struggled to think. “Because like, I can’t go back, right? So why not stay like this?”
“Wait, you’re not going back? You have to!”
Syn flopped back on her back again and spread her legs. “Nah, because, um...” She but her lip. She wanted to touch so badly, but Grankitty wouldn’t let her! “Um... because the thing. Monsters. They come after me.” Hehe, ‘cum.’
“Well, that’s not a terrible point,” conceded Grankitty. “But—“
“Yay!” Syn shouted, and stuck a hand into her shorts.
“But staying as Syn too long is dangerous too! It can mess with your mind...” But Syn was past listening as she stroked herself.
She arched her back as she played with herself, one hand between her legs and the other on her breast. “Fuck...” she moaned. “Need this so bad... feels so good...” And it did, though not as good as being filled had. She remembered fucking the injured Lawrence, and a burst of pleasure exploded through her. Then she remembered the next time they fucked, the feeling of being a slave fucking her Master, and this time it wasn’t a burst of pleasure but a series of explosions as she came.
And it still wasn’t as good as being a slave.
Meghan sprawled across the desk, her lithe, slender frame glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Only her panties now remained of her clothes, and her only hope was to keep them on long enough for someone to come in and disturb them—and the trickle of dawn light coming in through the office window suggested that she didn’t need to last much longer.
That also meant she’d been fighting for hours, and that entire time Feiticeiro hadn’t broken a sweat or shown a hint of any emotion other than smug calm.
It had started when he walked into the cubicle. She’d known she was in danger, but that was something a news reporter had to be ready for. But this was a kind of danger she had never imagined, that her own body could betray her. But when he shushed her, her phone dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers—fingers that obeyed him, rather than her.
“How—?” she started, but at a gesture from him, she fell silent. No: at a gesture from him, she couldn’t speak.
“I told you, I’ll answer your questions once you’ve answered mine,” he said smoothly. “Now. I assume you won’t answer willingly, and just ripping them out of you might do too much damage to get everything I need. Someone with your skills could be useful, so I need to preserve those skills.”
Meghan could only stare in silence, her big blue eyes wide in panic as they flicked back and forth, seeking escape.
“That means,” Feiticeiro continued, “that I can’t just take over. I need you to surrender willingly.”
“Never,” Meghan spat back, before jerking in surprise. “I can talk?” She glared at Feiticeiro. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I know I’m not going to do what you want!”
Feiticeiro smiled. “Fortunately, my dear, I am a very persuasive man. For example, you are now finding your skin is very sensitive, that the mere touch of your clothing is a maddening tease.”
Are you insane? Meghan tried to say, only to find that she couldn’t again. But then she felt it: a tingling in her thighs, where her tight jeans touched them. Then she felt it in her breasts, her butt, spreading across her torso, down her arms and legs, until her entire body was tingling.
It was like an itch, or being tickled over her whole body at once. But neither of those was as sexual as this feeling, or felt so good.
She tried to maintain her glare, but couldn’t; her eyes fluttered as she began to twitch a little.
The feeling was just too much. It was like her body couldn’t contain it, as it went on and on and on. It never stayed still; everywhere her clothes touched was always tingling, but there was always somewhere that it was stronger, too strong to bear, and yet if she twitched or jerked or moved to try to distract herself from that spot, somewhere else would become the focus, wandering around her body at random.
In desperation, her breath already quickening, Meghan tried rubbing at the most intense spot—a patch on her arm at the moment. It helped a little, but the movement of her clothing just intensified the feeling elsewhere, and she gasped.
“You understand, don’t you?” said Feiticeiro. “I control your body. You have to accept that.”
Meghan whimpered. She tried to ask what he was doing to her, but she couldn’t speak. He said he asks his questions first, she thought.
“You understand that, don’t you?” he asked. “That I have control of your body?”
“Yes,” she admitted, and found that she could.
“Good girl. So you’ll understand that when I tell you this, it’s the truth: the only way to find relief from this feeling is to remove your clothes. Bare skin won’t tingle like this. But! With each piece of clothing you remove, the more attraction you will feel to me personally—and the longer you let the tingling build first, the greater your need will be when you finally remove it.”
Meghan moaned. She did believe it, that was the terrible part. At this point she fully believed he was capable of carrying out his threat—and there could be only one reason to make her attracted to him.
And who knows what he’ll make me do after that...
So she fought. She resisted and struggled while he watched, smiled smugly, and occasionally taunted her with predictions of her impending defeat. In the end, she just couldn’t take it anymore. Her shirt was lose enough that it didn’t touch all of her at any moment, but her jeans were tight, flush against every inch of her legs, making their entire length tingle at once.
Once the decision was made, she scrambled to do it, jumping up to kick off her shoes and then tearing her jeans off as quickly as possible. And the moment she did—she saw Feiticeiro with new eyes.
The tingling had already been arousing, but now she flushed with a wave of desire that crested—and then stayed at its peak. He was gorgeous, perfect. That smug expression she’d found so annoying was really a measure of his confidence, his power. Her gaze fell to his hands, his long fingers, and she imagined them on her, in her, stroking and claiming.
“Fuck...” she whimpered as she stumbled back against her desk, panting wildly, unable to tear her eyes away from him.
“You see?” he said. “From physical sensation to actual desire. The more you give in, the more I control not just your body but your mind. Do you understand?”
“Yes...” she moaned. It was true. But she could fight back better now. She wanted him—but what even was he? Where could powers like this have come from? How could any of this be possible? If she could just focus on that, and ignore her need for him, or the maddening tingle of her clothes...
But it was impossible to ignore. All she could try to do was endure, and as the long night dragged on she couldn’t even do that. Finally she tore off her shirt as well, a white men’s dress shirt she often wore while working. It was one of her favorites, but she hardly cared as buttons popped off in her haste to pull it off, to free her skin.
That left socks, which she didn’t even hesitate to pull off, and her bra and panties. Much less skin was tingling now—but the focus was now moving entirely between two of the most sensitive parts of her body, more intense and maddening than ever. She couldn’t remain upright at all, falling back across her desk, moaning as she writhed.
Then she felt Feiticeiro’s hand on her stomach. The touch she craved so much—more now than ever—drifting lightly, teasingly over the taut pale skin of her tummy. She shuddered, knocking her screen over, as pleasure and need filled her. “Please...” she whimpered.
“Please what?” asked Feiticeiro. “Please touch you? Or please free you? You don’t even know anymore, do you?”
And she didn’t. She knew that was his control growing further, and that accepting it gave him even more power over her, but what else could she do? It just felt so good. She wanted more!
But she couldn’t allow that. She had to keep fighting, even as his hand drifted over her.
It was a losing fight though, and she knew it. Helpless, hopeless, desperate, needy, all she could do was writhe and gasp and plead, and finally she couldn’t take it anymore. She tore off her bra and threw it aside.
She gasped as Feiticeiro murmured, “Good girl.” His voice rolled in her ears, melting what few parts of her remained that weren’t already a puddle of desire. It was the sexiest sound she’d ever heard in her life, and she’d never wanted anyone to fuck her—never imagined wanting anyone to fuck her—as much as she wanted him.
“You like that,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “You want me to praise you more... want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”
“Yes...” she whimpered. “Please...” And now she knew what she was pleading for. She wanted to be good for him. Wanted him to touch her, stroke her, whisper to her, fuck her... but she couldn’t. She couldn’t give in, couldn’t surrender—he was some kind of monster, demon, evil hypnotist, something, and the world had to be warned...
Then she saw the sun. Hope surged. Just hold out a little longer, she thought.
Shortly after, she heard a blessed sound: the elevator. The doors opened. Someone stepped out. They were walking toward her cubicle. She couldn’t call out to them, but her pants, her gasps, her moans—they must hear her, right?
A shadow passed her cubicle... and kept going. Meghan groaned. How..?
“Aw,” said Feiticeiro. “Did you think someone might rescue you? With all my power, do you think I can’t keep them from paying any attention to us? I could take you in the middle of the city’s busiest intersection, and cars would go around us without their drivers ever questioning why.”
Almost sobbing with her need, the torment, Meghan couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed the waistband of her panties, pulled her legs up, and took them off, leaving herself completely naked.
“You can’t win,” said Feiticeiro. “You understand that, don’t you?”
And she did. He was perfect, irresistible, his every word, every touch, every glance stoking the fire inside of her.
“Beg for me to take you,” he said. “And know that that is your final surrender—that once I claim you, you will be able to deny me nothing.”
Meghan bit her full, red lower lip, trying to hold out one last time, even though she knew she couldn’t. And sure enough, one of his hands went to stroke one of her small, conical breasts, teasing the nipple, which had already hardened like a little pink diamond. The other fell to her thighs, stroking up between them slowly, and her last will shut down.
“Please...” she moaned. “Take me...”
And he did. She screamed in ecstasy as he plunged into her, bringing her to another, higher orgasm with every stroke. At last he came too, and as his cum filled her, one final screaming, shaking, thrashing orgasm filled her as well.
“Now,” he said finally, standing by the desk where she lay naked and trembling. “for questions. Tell me about your sources. Who are you working with?”
She was his, now. She could deny him nothing.
Not even her friend.