Heather s Dilemma
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The Magister's Dilemma I free porn video
I
For a warm April night, Manhattan was fairly quiet.
The further you got from downtown and the big New York scene, the
quieter it got; close to the ocean, it was almost peaceful; the sound of
cars faded away into the distance, drowned out by the relentless
clashing of waves against the shore. Across the narrow part of the East
River that separated the island from Brooklyn, it was even quieter; it
reminded me of my home in Boston's North End.
It had been several weeks since I'd been back in Boston, but it wasn't
like anybody knew; I had written a letter of absence to my track coach,
stating that I was going to be away for a couple of weeks visiting a
sick grandfather, and for all my teammates knew, I was homeschooled. I
wished; though it was a satisfying job, being a magister, I did
sometimes wish for a normal life. Even one where I wasn't so desired
would have been nice.
As a magister of extreme power, even at my young age of seventeen, I was
sought after by all seven of the major wizarding houses across the
world, one for each continent; each wanted to have me working in their
department, saving their cities from their problems. It was almost like
being valedictorian, a football hero, and a community volunteer all at
once; everywhere wanted to you go and work for them.
To be honest, at that point, I didn't really care; I did work for the
New England cell of magisters, based in Boston, and enjoyed what I did.
On the track team, I was rather good; I made many friends, and was not
at all unpopular with the ladies. I had inherited my father's looks, I'd
been told. Longish, wavy dark hair framed a face with high cheekbones
and electric blue eyes, a strange combination when compared to my
friends. I stood tall and held my head high, honoring the family that I
was so lucky to be a part of.
The family which had, unfortunately, sent me out to this dump of a city
to root out a den of vampires. The Children of the Night had become far
more active in this area recently. Feeding on humans, an act that had
been forbidden by the Cartam Domini written thousands of years ago, had
been observed by one of the few members of the NYC cell. Due to the fact
that they lacked the firepower to take the situation by the horns, I had
been dispatched to do their work for them.
Nobody was around as I made my way to the run-down apartment building
that they used as their base of operations; it was late enough that most
people with any amount of sense would be inside with the doors locked by
now. Even the local gangs had moved on to more pressing matters than
standing around mugging people; not a soul was on the streets.
The building rose up at the end of a dead-end side street, lined with
parked cars on either side. Once, it had been a fine dwelling. Years of
mistreatment at the hands of those who did not need structural security
had rendered it an eyesore. Various windows were boarded up and shrouded
in heavy curtains to keep out the sunlight. The door was covered in
caution tape and eviction notices, as well as a fresh piece of paper
warning hoodlums away from the unsafe ruin. Only the brickwork seemed to
be mostly intact, if a bit dingy.
As I neared the door, I drew the blade from my back. It crackled with
energy as I drew nearer to the front steps, sensing the presence of
creatures beyond the mortal realm of existence within. It was a
beautiful piece of art, my sword; passed down through the family for
generations, it had been originally worked by a Roman thunder-smith in
the third century BC. The thunder-smiths were exceptionally gifted
magisters; rather than using the forge and anvil of a normal human
smith, they opted to instead use the lightning of natural storms to
shape their weapons and imbue them with immense magical power. As a
result, the weapons that thunder-smiths produced were stronger than
normal steel, never dulled, and had huge reserves of power stored
within. The runes emblazoned on the blade of a thunder-smith's weapon
had a huge impact on the type of magic that the wielder would work; as
the blade was handed down from father to son, the runes changed of their
own accord to reflect the user's talents and abilities. At present, the
blade bore runes of fire and lightning; taking after my father in
another respect, I used exceptionally volatile magics to get the job
done.
Walking up the steps to the door, I took a deep breath and scrawled a
glowing blue symbol across the caution tape with my finger. Silently, it
swung inward, disturbing several rats and triggering an asthmatic
nightmare of a cloud of dust. Sweeping my hand across the doorway, the
dust dispersed, each particle individually unmade with a thought.
I stepped into the threshold and closed the door behind me, throwing a
handful of weak white magelights into the air to give some insight as to
what my surroundings looked like. There was only a hallway that went
forward, presumably to the main proper of the building, where the
vampires would be milling about if they were not out hunting. Seeing no
other choice, I followed the moth-eaten carpet, eyes on the shadows,
braced for an ambush.
The entry hallway was a fairly short ordeal, and opened into a spacious
area with some rotted chairs and a collapsed desk up against one wall.
From the looks of things, I'd say that it was once a receptionist's
area. I looked around for another hallway, anything to go by, but found
all ways blocked, be they by rubble or boarded-up hallways, but for one
slightly open, heavy oak door.
I grasped the wood gingerly in my left hand, tugging it open and praying
that it wouldn't creak; nothing happened, thankfully, and it swung open
without a sound. A long, rickety-looking wooden staircase stood before
me, extending down into a darkness so complete that the bottom of the
stairs, some twenty feet below, couldn't be seen by any definition. Even
the midpoint of the stairwell was difficult to distinguish from its
surroundings.
I whispered a single word of power, and my blade, as well as the tattoos
on my right arm, flared up with a harsh blue light, casting a much
brighter glow than the magelights I had conjured upon entering the
building. Cobalt flames ran like water down the blade, swirling off of
the tip and edges as if it had been dunked in a tub of the stuff.
Adequately prepared, I began my painfully slow descent.
As I went further down the stairs, the temperature dropped, as it often
did in areas infested by vampires; their lack of body heat, coupled with
the fact that they no longer needed to stay warm, made heating of any
kind obsolete. I took it as a sign that I was getting close, and kept my
blade at the ready, muscles tensed to swing.
The basement was lined with tightly closed coffins, all along the walls,
but for a single door, directly behind the stairs, with a bright light
shining out from beneath it. Seeing as most of them would be out on the
prowl for blood anyways, I elected not to open any of the coffins; even
if any were present, fighting a Night Child in their own home during
their waking cycle would be fatal, even to someone of my ability.
I did the only thing left to do, barring opening the coffins; I opened
the door to the room behind the stairs and came face-to-face with what
appeared to be my first vampire.
She sat in a high-backed chair in the middle of the room, and was quite
beautiful, but for her coal-black eyes in which no light was reflected.
Shoulder-length black hair contrasted her paper white skin nicely, and
she was dressed in the fashion of the late nineteenth century; a dress,
some other girly crap, what seemed to be a corset. I wasn't quite sure
what was what, to be honest.
"Vampire," I said, with a curt nod.
"Magister," she replied, with a nod of her own. "Why have you come into
our hotel? Can you not see that we do not want your kind here? Get out,
before my brothers return, and you will escape with your life."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, puer noctis," I said, using the ancient
Latin term for her race. "Your clan has violated the Cartam Domini. For
that, I have been sent to either call you into a court of Magisterial
law, or purge each and every last one of you from this city."
The vampire snarled. "You? Kill us? Laughable. They send a child to do
their bidding for them. Boy, I am Sofia Wright, leader of this clan!
I've BEEN leader for a hundred years! You think you can march in here
and--"
"I don't care who you are," I said, cutting her off. "I am Sean Lemming,
of Boston. Perhaps you have heard of me."
Her eyes widened a fraction; she knew the name, then. "You're the one
who butchered the last pack of werewolves in Philadelphia."
I nodded. "They, too, had broken the law. I took them on alone. You
think I won't do the same to you and yours?" I raised my sword, the blue
flames flickering ominously. "You have a minute to give me an answer.
Justice, or death."
The vampire raised her chin. "I choose neither." With that, she lunged
forward, her nails growing long and sharp in midair, before slamming
into me with the force of a truck. I turned my shoulder into the leap,
slamming into her solar plexus as she leapt; with a small amount of
magical force, I was able to stand my ground and knock her off of her
feet with her own momentum. She skidded across the hard concrete floor
of the basement before coming to a rest on the opposite wall. As she
touched it, she rolled and got up, hissing and crawling back towards me
slowly, watching my every move.
"You have chosen death. Let the records say that it was your choice.
Honestum mori," I said, drawing back my blade. It was customary to give
the final words of the Magisters to those sentenced to death by the law;
honestum mori, die with honor.
Her muscles tensed, and I raised my sword. She jumped, and I swung. With
a screech of pain, her left arm fell to the floor with a thud as she
hunched over, clutching a cauterized stump.
"Last words, vampire?" I asked, raising my blade.
"Yes. Take him!"
My adrenaline surged as I leapt to the side just in time to avoid a
purple bolt of flame, shot from the opposite side of the room. My head
whipped around to see a hidden panel in the basement's wall slide back
to reveal a tunnel filled with five or six women. They were not
vampires; their appearances varied, and they did not smell of death.
Strange. Women, under any circumstances, had no access to magic of any
kind.
My leap had taken me within range of the vampire's neck; with one swift
chop, her head was the next thing rolling across the floor. I squared
off with the pack of women, daring them to say something before me.
"We have been expecting you, Magister," said the first and tallest among
them. She was almost as tall as my own six foot two, probably six even
or just under, with a sharp chin and stern-looking eyes. She looked like
what I would imagine the head of a convent of nuns would look like.
"State your business. Be forewarned that mortals have no place in the
dens of vampires; if you were prisoners, allow me to remove the memories
of such an ordeal and set you free."
"We aren't prisoners, Lemming. We're the leaders of every Ligatus in New
York City."
'Ligatus' was the name that the Magisters used for all nonmortals that
were not magisters. This included werewolves, vampires, faeries,
demonkin, elves, and dwarves, among other, more obscure races. It was
derived from "charter-bound" in Latin, as all of the races, as well as
the Magisters, were bound by the Cartam Domini, the Master's Charter.
Those who broke the law were known as Proecti, the honorless.
"Nonsense. You're a bunch of mortal women. There's no way you could be
the leaders of the entire NYC network of Ligati."
"Who said we were mortal? We're magistrixes, all of us. And we'd very
much like a word with you, Magister."
I raised my chin in disgust, understanding now what I was seeing.
Magistrixes were the lowest of the low in Magisterial society.
The Magisters were an organization of one hundred percent male members.
Legend had it that long ago, they were more than that; beings of pure
energy that policed the universe, keeping everything in working order.
Some kind of catastrophe had occurred, and as the story goes, the
Magisters were trapped in the body of men, and only men.
The child of a Magister was not a love-child; it was a thought child. A
Magister could take a spouse, called a consort, from the mortal world,
but they would not have a child by natural means; Magisters were
infertile due to the immense and volatile powers that the wielded.
Rather, Magisters could get permission from the Creationary council to
perform a spell of the highest order; that of the creation of life.
There was a specific formula to follow; if it went through, the child
would be a healthy baby boy, exactly to the specifications of the
father. If something went wrong, and a girl was somehow created, the
child was stripped of all its inherent magical power, and the family
exiled. These magistrixes, as they called themselves, were not like the
Magisters; they were essentially regular women. They could give birth,
but they did not have the power that marked the Magisters as special.
Throughout history, they had often tried to wrest power from their
betters, but to no avail; the absence of any power made them simply a
nuisance.
"Then what, do tell, do you want? Speak quickly, lest I take a bushel of
heads home for a parlor decoration."
"Simply put, Lemming, we want you. Your power. Such vast potential, such
vast power. It would be a shame if something were to...happen to it." The
lead woman smiled, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small
stone sphere. The girls around her tittered and cackled, watching
closely.
The woman put the stone on the palm of her hand, turned it three times,
and extended her arm straight out at me. I raised my sword just in time
to deflect a wire-thin beam of bright white light projected from the
stone into one of the girls beside the woman. She wailed in pain as her
skin turned a dusky grey color and she crumbled to ash in a matter of
seconds. The stone floated into the air, and in a flash, transformed
into what appeared to be a living eye, isolated from whatever body it
came from.
"Mallorie!" One of the girls squealed and frantically shifted the ashes
aside. "She's gone! Dead! Poor Mallorie, oh!" She burst into tears.
"You bastard!" yelled the lead woman. "Forget his power, we can take it
when he's DEAD! Kill him!"
The girls looked at me and, as one, growled in a chilling manner. They
advanced slowly, their hands slowly erupting into purple-black flame as
they walked. They seemed unsure of themselves. I swung my sword up and
around my head, the blue fire on the blade creating a halo around my
body. The girls stopped, unsure of whether to proceed.
"Go! End his existence!"
With a screech, the four remaining girls attacked all at once. I parried
a fireball from the first one, and slashed through two more on the
backswing. The fourth, I smashed back in the girl's direction,
incinerating her on the spot. I allowed myself a small smile of
satisfaction before I took a step back to avoid a swing from a long
dagger that one of the girls now clutched.
She was a surprisingly adept fighter; we danced back and forth for
almost a full minute before I landed a crippling blow on her bicep. She
dropped the weapon, and I ran her through without a second thought. She
lay, gasping, as I stepped over her to deal with the remaining two
girls, and stopped dead in my tracks.
The beam from the eye, now a vibrant red, was focused on the center of
my chest; I had not noticed, being engaged in my blade dance with one of
the woman's minions. I tried to move, and found myself unable. Slowly,
my fingers loosened up from their tight grip around the leather-wrapped
hilt of my sword, and I dropped it to the ground with a clatter. Against
my own will, I knelt before the remaining three girls, unable to even
blink on my own.
"We discovered this artifact in Mexico City, in the ruins of
Tenochtitlan. It was an Aztec artifact that allowed them to drain the
power from supernatural beings. They used it as an offering to
Huitzilopochtli; we plan to use it to depose the Magister's council, and
turn their sexism back on them. The age of the Magistrix is coming,
Lemming. And you will be the first to help usher it in."
With that, she wrapped her hands around the artifact and drew in a deep
breath. White-hot pain exploded all throughout my body as I was wreathed
in my own signature white-blue flame. Slowly, my kneeling outline in
fire floated forward, then coalesced into a single, tiny white fireball.
It floated docilely into the hands of the tall woman, and she did
nothing more impressive than shove it into her pocket.
I felt sick and weak, like I had just thrown up everything that I had
ever had inside of me; at the same time, I felt dreamy, like I was not
really there, and was watching through someone else's eyes. The room
spun and flashed as I heard the woman speak one final time.
"Bernadette...make him pretty."
With that, I blacked out.
---
II
I came to on a raised dais in the center of a large, white room. All
sorts of shiny metal machinery hung from the ceiling as I slowly raised
my head and looked around. I tried to move, and found that I couldn't;
my body was firmly held in a kneeling position with both knees on the
floor by some sort of metal frame. I was also naked, judging from the
feeling of cold metal across my body.
My hands, bloodied and burned, were wrapped tightly around two rings
attached to two poles that were welded to the dais; the poles were
inscribed with runes that I recognized as being for binding and draining
demons of their power. They were exceptionally dangerous for use on
anything that possessed magic, for they had the potential to sap and
extinguish all remnants of magic in a being's system; I could see why
they would have used them on me.
I resigned myself to simply waiting there, hanging my head, for
something to happen; I still felt rather sick, but it could wait until I
figured out where I was, and why. I remained in that position for long
time before I heard the clacking of high heels against metal.
I looked up to see one of the women from the night in Brooklyn walking
towards me, clutching a clipboard and looking quite imposing, from this
angle, in a lab coat. She stopped about ten feet in front of the dais
and slowly circled around me.
"How the mighty have fallen, Lemming. Just three days ago you were
threatening us with death; now look at you. Drained, depleted, helpless.
That's good. You still don't know what we have in store for you."
She stopped when she had completed a full circuit. "Complete and total
slavery, Lemming. You're going to feel exactly the kind of degradation
and inhumanity that we got from the Magisters every day. We were
furniture--you'll be property. A plaything fit to do whatever your
beloved master tells you to."
She began her walking again, only this time she came up directly behind
me and put a long-nailed hand on my bare right shoulder, leaning in
close and whispering. "Only, Lemming, you'll be doing it as one of us; a
very pretty, very brainless girl."
What was her name...Bernadette pulled back and chuckled to herself as I
stared, stoic and silent, but feeling hollow, at the ground. A
magister's intellect was the one thing that he valued above all else; to
take that away was a fate worse than death.
"It'll be a fairly quick transformation, don't you worry," Bernadette
cooed, pulling down various machines from their telescoping arms on the
ceiling. "A bit of magic--your magic, by the way, thanks for that--and a
bit of modern technology, and you're a bangin' piece of ass, just you
wait."
The floor of the room was tiled in a pattern of three foot metal squares
with circles dominating their centers. One of these circles now opened,
and pushed a vat full of a sweet-smelling pink liquid up through the
floor next to the dais. Bernadette took several large syringes and drew
them up to a fairly full capacity, then laid them on a small steel
countertop attached to the vat. She then dipped a cotton swab in the
stuff, wiped the excess on the edge of the vat, and swiped it across my
nipples. Immediately, they began to itch like mad as she methodically
picked up two syringes, inserted each one into one of my nipples, and
left them hanging there by their supports to the ceiling. Within a
minute, I felt a warm spread through each half of my chest as the liquid
was slowly injected, in a controlled manner, into them. After a few
seconds of the continued warmth, it stopped.
I felt a pinch in each buttock, and then two more in the back of each
thigh. Bernadette said she'd be right back and left the room for a few
minutes. There was no change for about ten minutes, when every one of
the syringes slowly released their predetermined amount of liquid into
me. Looking down, I could already see the two halves of my chest
becoming slightly more defined as fleshy mounds.
Bernadette came back in with a ball gag and a helmet with an eye
covering, placing both on me as she explained that the injections were
meant to simulate a male orgasm. "When you wake up in the morning," she
said, "you will have a lovely pair of DD breasts with big pink nipples,
a nice full ass, and thighs to match. Then we can change your height,
get rid of your body hair, grow your hair out, dye it, get you a nice
vagina and have you well on your way. It'll only take one night of
watching and listening to this tape to mold your mind into sexual
slavery," she said. "Good night, Shannon!"
Shannon. I had always liked that name. As the room darkened and a
barrage of sexual images flashed before my eyes, I thought of a cute
little redheaded girl back home, waiting for her boy that would never
return.
---
III
I awoke the next morning not on my dais, but in a bed. Bernadette stood
over me, watching closely as I awoke and sat up, yawning. Then I felt a
sudden weight come down on my chest, and everything came crashing down
on me. I risked a look down, and saw the soft white mounds of flesh
where there had once been hard muscle.
"Good morning, Shannon. Why don't you stand up, so you can see the
extent of what we did while you were sleeping?" Bernadette gave me a
cheerful smile, and I rose.
"Good morning, Mistress Bernadette," I replied in a high, girly voice. I
was puzzled. That wasn't what I usually sounded like. But I couldn't
remember how I was supposed to make my voice sound. I also noticed that
I was now shorter than Mistress Bernadette.
"Well, you've got your nice breasts, and we've given you a more suitable
height; you're five four now. We took in your hips quite a bit to give
you that womanly shape we know you want, and you'll find that you
haven't a shred of hair anywhere but that nice shoulder-length deal on
your pretty little empty head. We changed your face, so that you don't
look like a man, too. And your voice, as I'm sure you've noticed. All
that's left to do before we ship you out for training is do your lips,
hair, and nails, and, of course, the most important thing of all; your
vagina."
She pulled a syringe out of her lab coat pocket. "Come here now, and
we'll do your lips in front of the mirror." I walked over to a
hairdresser's chair in front of a mirror and I hadn't bothered to notice
until then and sat down, admiring myself; I really was quite pretty. I
couldn't wait to get big lips so that I could wrap them around Master's
delicious cock!
Bernadette worked with the pink stuff that she had used to make my boobs
and butt on my lips for about fifteen minutes, then pulled away to
reveal a marvelous set of bright pink lips that looked just right for
blowjobs! She then waved her hands over my head for a few minutes until
my raven hair turned a bleached blonde color. I spaced out for a moment
there, and snapped back to find that my nails had been changed from
their normal color to a bright pink, with cute French tips that would
make handjobs feel sensual.
"Now, Shannon, come back and lay down on your bed. We're gonna do your
vagina!"
I smiled broadly and laid in front of Bernadette as she firmly grasped
my penis. With a hard tug, it, along with my balls, separated from the
body, leaving behind a smooth pubic mount and a tingly feeling. With
another tingling, I felt the lips of my new vagina part between my legs,
and just like that, my transformation was complete.
Bernadette felt a tug at the back of her mind. Slowly, she lifted an
eyebrow as she admired her handiwork.
"What is it, Tina?" she queried, speaking the question not out loud, but
in her head, using her newfangled magical powers to communicate with her
sister-in-arms.
"Hadley wants her sent to Michael before the day's up. She needs her
training to be a good little whore."
"You've got it. I'll send her out within the hour."
Bernadette stroked my hair as I lay, oblivious to the exchange that had
just occurred. "Time to get you ready, love," she said.
---
IV
A hooded figure wound his way through the streets of Brooklyn, seeking
out one particular abandoned hotel. His attire was fairly nondescript;
it was a cold day, and he wore a hoodie with a black jacket over it,
with jeans and combat boots. He kept his hands in his pockets as he
walked.
Coming up to the door, he ghosted through without any of the few
passerby noticing. Within seconds, he was in the basement, through
whatever eldritch magics he possessed.
Nothing but a scattering of ash and the lingering presence of Sean's
magic marked that he had been in this place. The boy--for that is what he
was--took a deep breath, and lowered his hood to reveal his bald and
heavily tattooed head, marked with runes for fluidity of physical
characteristics and transformation; an exceptionally rare shapeshifter.
"Sean...damn it. The Magisters need you. Where oh where have you gone, my
friend?"
The boy kicked his way through the ashes as he thought allowed.
Unexpectedly, an emaciated form rose from them, that of a young girl. In
an instant, the boy had drawn his hands from his pockets; in their place
were not the large hands of a teenager, but a huge pair of wicked-
looking, metallic claws, with mottled red flesh and black chitin
covering their steely silver blades.
"The boy...is gone," she gasped.
"Where? Where has he gone?" said the boy, holding a single bladed finger
to her neck.
"Away," she replied, before collapsing back into a pile of dust.
Will sighed. This was not going to be easy.
Grace
- 17.09.2022
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