Fucking the Mana Out of Mara: And House Meeting

Emi was sprawled in a comfy armchair, feet up, idly flipping through channels on the TV, the "Stiff Upper Libram" resting open on her lap. Verdant Green hovered beside her, its gravelly voice a low, conspiratorial murmur as they debated the merits of a minor illusion spell versus a localized charm, whilst also commenting on some inane programme. They were completely unconcerned, as if they hadn't just orchestrated a magical **** impregnation and career-ending defeat a few hours ago.

Mara meanwhile sat on the other corner sofa watching Emi and the pink cloud with burning, impotent hatred, her dark eyes promising a **** she was currently incapable of delivering.

The apartment door clicked open, and Brandon stepped in, a paper bag of takeout in one hand. He looked around, taking in the scene with a calm, proprietary air. He dropped the bag on the kitchen counter and walked over to the couch, not even glancing at Emi. He moved with a new confidence, that hadn’t been there that morning. He climbed onto the couch behind Mara, his body fitting snugly against her back, one arm wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against him. She stiffened, a soft, involuntary gasp escaping her lips as she felt the hard, insistent press of his cock against her ass through their clothes. His other hand came up to cup her heavy tit, his thumb idly stroking the fabric of the plain t-shirt Emi had loaned her, a gesture of casual ownership that was particularly infuriating.

His free hand snaked down, hooking into the waistband of the plain cotton panties she'd been given. With a single, practiced tug, he pulled them down, the fabric catching for a moment on her hip before sliding down to her knees. Mara let out a low, furious hiss, a sound of pure, venomous protest. "Don't you dare," she snarled, her voice raw, her bound hands clenching into fists. "Get your hands off me, you pathetic little—"

"Shhh," Emi's voice cut through the air, a soft, dismissive murmur without even looking up from her book. "We're trying to watch TV."

The casual command, more potent than any spell, silenced Mara instantly. She bit back the rest of her tirade, the words turning to ash in her mouth. Brandon, untroubled by her threats, simply shifted his position, guiding the head of his cock to her already sore, sensitive entrance. He pushed inside her in one smooth, slow thrust, a deliberate act of possession that drew another unwanted, humiliating gasp from Mara's lips. He settled into a steady, comfortable rhythm, not the frantic hammering from the bookshop, but a slow, deep fucking, a long, leisurely claiming.

Emi finally looked up from the grimoire, her gaze cool and analytical as she watched Brandon's slow, rhythmic thrusts into the bound woman on her couch. She met Mara's burning, hateful stare with a small, unconcerned shrug.

"I don't know what the constant stink eye is all about to be honest. If you didn't want to get fucked, you shouldn't have messed with a Trickster Breeder Witch," Emi said, her voice casual, as if she were commenting on the weather. "That's just how it goes. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. This is all on you, really."

She turned back to her book, her finger tracing a line of spidery script. "Besides," she added, as an afterthought, "it's not like you're not enjoying it on some level. I can feel the energy from here. You're a mess of conflicting emotions, and it's delicious." She paused, then smiled. "And Brandon is learning. That's good."

As if to punctuate the point Brandon gave one hard, punishing thrust that made Mara cry out. His hands tightened on her hips, holding her still as he ground himself into her. She could feel the heat blooming in her core, a traitorous response that made her want to scream.

Emi's gaze flickered from the book to the bound witch, a speculative gleam in her dark eyes. She watched Mara's face, a fascinating canvas of rage and humiliation and, beneath it all, a ****, simmering arousal.

Mara grit her teeth, her body a traitorous vessel responding with a growing slickness, a shameful heat that bloomed in her core with every deep, possessive thrust. She could feel the heavy weight of Brandon's balls slapping against her clit with each movement, a crude, percussive reminder of her utter subjugation.

Brandon, with a new, intuitive confidence, seemed to sense her internal struggle. He released her hip, and with a single, efficient movement, grabbed the hem of the plain t-shirt and bundled it up, yanking it over her head. The fabric caught on her chin for a moment, muffling her furious snarl, before being pulled down over her face, plunging her world into a disorienting darkness of cheap cotton. Her hands, still bound behind her back, flexed uselessly.

The sensory deprivation was the final straw. With her sight stolen, every other sensation was magnified a hundredfold: the thick, hot stretch of Brandon's cock inside her, the coarse fabric of the couch against her knees, the lewd, wet sounds of their joining echoing in her ears, and the suffocating, claustrophobic feel of the t-shirt against her skin.

Her body convulsed, her cunt clamping down on Brandon's cock in a series of ****, rhythmic spasms.

Emi's head snapped up, and then groaned in pleasure. She didn't need to see; she could feel it. A wave of utterly delectable wave of energy pulsed through the room. The mana was different from what she'd drawn earlier, it was richer, more complex, infused with the potent cocktail of Mara's fury, humiliation, and the undeniable, explosive power of her climax. Emi closed her eyes, leaning her head back as she absorbed the influx, the stolen power a cool, fresh river flowing into the hot, chaotic sea of her own magic. She took a long, slow, deep breath, a connoisseur savouring a rare and exquisite vintage, a good, solid scoop of power drawn directly from the soul of her defeated foe.

Emi set the grimoire aside, a new, dangerous light in her eyes. The influx of Mara's power was a heady ****, and she wanted more. A very specific kind of more. She unleashed her ability 'Twinning Vendetta.

Brandon gasped, his rhythm faltering as a strange, tingling sensation washed over him, a sudden, inexplicable awareness of Emi's presence that was more than just sight. Emi, for her part, felt the link snap into place. She could feel him, not just see him, a phantom sensation of the tight, wet heat of Mara's cunt wrapped around her own phantom cock, a mirror-image of his pleasure. He looked at her, his expression a mixture of confusion and dawning, lustful comprehension.

Her hands began to roam, a slow, deliberate exploration of her own curves. She cupped her heavy breasts, her thumbs brushing against the hard, sensitive points of her nipples, and she felt a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure shoot through the link. Brandon cried out, his hips bucking forward, driving himself deeper into Mara as the sensation of Emi's hands on her own tits was mirrored and amplified in his own body. Emi watched him, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the ghostly echo of him buried deep inside the other witch. She slid a hand down her stomach, her fingers parting the slick folds of her cunt, finding the hard, sensitive nub of her clit.

The feedback loop was instantaneous and overwhelming. As she began to circle her clit, a slow, firm rhythm, she felt Brandon's ****, frantic thrusts into Mara as if they were her own. Every stroke of her fingers sent a jolt of amplified pleasure through him, and in turn, the sensation of him fucking the bound, helpless witch was fed back to her, a doubled, treasured echo of raw, carnal sensation.

A series of hoarse, guttural grunts escaped Brandon’s lips, his rhythm faltering as he reached his peak. With one final, powerful slam, he buried himself to the hilt, his body going rigid. A low, satisfied groan rumbled in his chest as he pumped his hot seed deep into Mara’s unwilling but magically compelled body. His orgasm was a long, drawn-out affair, a series of shuddering releases that left him breathless and panting.

Emi felt the hot, potent rush of his release not as a distant echo, but as a torrent of pure, stolen Mana that flooded her own system, a violent, exquisite violation that was utterly hers to command. The ghostly sensation of Mara's tight, unwilling channel clenching around her was a secondary, almost irrelevant detail to the main event: the siphoning of energy. It was like drinking lightning, a chaotic, electric storm of Life magic that mingled with the cool, dark bitterness she had already drawn from the defeated witch, a perfect, volatile cocktail of opposing forces swirling within her.

As the last of Brandon's climax subsided, he pulled out with a slick, wet sound, leaving the **** Witch trembling on the couch, a mixture of fury, shame, and Brandon's cum trickling down her thighs.

Brandon pulled back, a slow, wide grin spreading across his face as he looked from the trembling, cum-smeared form on the couch to Emi, who was still basking in the potent afterglow of the siphoned energy. He ran a hand through his slightly damp hair, a look of boyish pride on his face.

"Does that count as a threesome?" he asked, his voice a casual, curious rumble that seemed utterly oblivious to the sheer, brutal intimacy of what had just transpired. He seemed genuinely interested in the technical classification of the act, as if they were discussing a particularly confusing ruling in a board game.

Mara let out a choked, furious sound from the couch, a noise that was half-sob, half-incredulous laugh. She tried to push herself up, her bound hands making the movement clumsy and awkward, her blonde hair falling into her face. She shot Brandon a look of such pure, unadulterated contempt that it should have peeled the paint from the walls.

"No," she snarled, her voice a raw, venomous rasp. "That doesn't 'count as a threesome'. That was you, a walking, talking penis with a Breeding Pass, acting as a magical dildo for her." She jerked her head towards Emi, her dark eyes burning.

"You think this is a game? You think you're the only players? The **** Miasma Cabal will notice my absence. They will feel my connection to the Primordial **** being severed. And when they find out what's happened, when they trace this back to a pack of Tricksters..." She let the threat hang in the air, a palpable wave of menace. "They won't just kill you. They will unmake you. They will peel your existence from the timeline until your parents were never born."

She leaned forward, her nakedness forgotten, her new, blonde hair falling over her shoulders like a shroud of shame. "So, you have a choice, little witch. You can enjoy your little seven-day victory lap. Or you can be smart. Kill me now. It's the only way you might, just might, stay off their radar."

Brandon, who had been about to take a sip of a drink from a glass on the coffee table, froze mid-motion, his head snapping towards Emi with a sharp, sudden alarm. He looked from her to Mara, his cheerful obliviousness replaced by a dawning comprehension of the true danger they were in. Emi, however, simply sighed, a long, weary sound of someone dealing with a tiresome, overly dramatic employee.

'Okay, take it easy,' Emi said, her voice firm but bored, waving a dismissive hand at Mara's dire pronouncements. 'We're not murdering anyone.' Verdant Green zipped into the air, a frantic, agitated pink swirl. 'That's what Life Covens and **** Cabals do. They're so... literal. So messy. We're Tricksters. We don't kill people. We fuck with them.'

There was a pause, a beat of silence filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of Mara's ragged, furious breathing. Then, the pink cloud's manic energy seemed to deflate, its glow dimming slightly.

'However,' Verdant Green conceded, its gravelly voice losing its flippant edge and taking on a more serious, almost hesitant tone, 'she does have a bit of a point.' The Familiar drifted lower, its form more solid, less ethereal. 'Life Covens and **** Cabals... they're not like us, mistress. They're not playing for fun or for a quick thrill. They're the heavy hitters. They're the old money, the establishment. They don't deal in chaos and tricks; they deal in absolutes. You'll end up either a brood mare in a harem or dead and a zombie...or some shit.'

"We're going to do what any sensible business does when faced with aggressive competition" Emi said, her voice leaving no room for argument: we're going to establish a secure power base, and we're going to negotiate a truce." She stood up from the armchair, a new, determined energy radiating from her. "We're going back to the office."

Brandon blinked. "The Wet 'N' Antics office?"

"That's where it all started," Emi confirmed, a fierce possessiveness in her tone. "That's our territory. I want it. I want the whole floor. And I want the Life Coven to agree that it's our ground."

A sceptical silence filled the room, broken only by Mara's resentful breathing. 'And how, precisely,' Verdant Green's gravelly voice dripped with condescension, 'do you intend to convince the Life Coven, a group of powerful, territorial, magic-siphoning zealots, to cede you prime commercial real estate in the middle of their magical harvesting ritual?'

Emi laughed, a short, sharp, genuinely amused sound. "You forget something, Verdant," she said, with a smile. "I might be new to witchcraft, but I'm not new to sales. You don't convince a rival to give you what you want by asking nicely. You do it by showing them you have something they need more. You don't sell them the product; you sell them the solution to a problem they didn't even know they had. Right now, their problem is a chaotic, unpredictable Trickster Breeder Witch running loose in their carefully controlled little experiment. And I," she concluded, her smile widening, "am the only one who can offer them a leash."

'Well, when you put it like that, it does sound like a profoundly terrible idea,' Verdant Green's gravelly voice mused, the pink cloud pulsing with a curious, almost intrigued light. 'But I suppose it's a more proactive form of suicide than just waiting for them to find us. I might be able to set up a meeting. A neutral parley. Life Covens, for all their obsessive control, are creatures of ritual and precedent. They're honour-bound, in their own way.' The cloud drifted closer, its form tightening into a more serious sphere. 'But I must stress, mistress, this is a terrible, terrible idea. Don't blame me if you go in to negotiate a lease and end up impregnated and a member of some Warlock's harem as a brood mare.'

Brandon, who had been quietly listening, a look of growing concern on his face, finally spoke up. "What happens to me in that case?" he asked, his voice a low, hesitant rumble. "If she... you know... becomes a brood mare?"

'Don't worry about him, mistress,' Verdant Green interjected, its gravelly tone taking on a flippant, almost dismissive quality. 'In the highly likely event of your capture and **** breeding, he's redundant. A Custos without a Witch is just a man with a magical dick and a very confusing set of memories. The Life Coven would probably allow him to walk away. Of course,' the Familiar added, its pink form glowing with a malicious glee, 'the magical bond between you would be severed. And the backlash from that? Well, let's just say he'd be a functioning eunuch. The plumbing would still be there, but the pressure would be gone for good.'

Brandon's face went pale. He looked from the unconcerned Familiar to Emi, a flicker of genuine fear in his eyes. "A eunuch?" he repeated, his voice cracking slightly. "As in... no more... ever?"

"Relax, alright?" Emi said, her voice a smooth,. "I know what I'm doing." She leaned back in her armchair, affecting an aura of calm competence that was entirely unearned.

"She doesn't," Mara snarled from the couch, her voice a flat, venomous certainty. She managed to push herself into a sitting position, the borrowed t-shirt twisting around her bound arms. "She's a child playing with a loaded gun she thinks is a water pistol. The Life Coven doesn't negotiate, they dominate. They will see your arrogance as a challenge and your 'sales pitch' as a confession. They will put a collar on you and a leash on your little fuck-puppy here, and they will milk you for power until your womb is worn out and your mind is a blank slate."

"Thank you for your input, Mara," Emi said, her tone laced with a saccharine sweetness that was far more menacing than any outright threat. "Your constructive criticism is always so valued." She turned back to Verdant Green. "Set it up. Now."

Mara and Brandon