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“Yes, and then he told me–“ Yennefer’s voice cut off.
Triss frowned. “Told you what?”
“He told me that the price of the potion would, erm…” She blinked a couple of times. “That it depended on the amount of banewort used in its creation and was thus susceptible to change.”
“A swindler, then,” Triss assessed.
Tissaia nodded along, committing her face to a mask of pleasantness, her hands clasped neatly over her stomach, beneath long sleeves that covered them completely.
A deliberate choice. That way, no one would notice the minuscule movement of her right forefinger against her left hand’s wrist.
Well.
No one but Yennefer, that was, who was feeling its effects rather tangibly between her legs.
Tissaia increased the pressure just so.
“Y-yes.” Yennefer’s voice jumped and she swiftly cleared her throat. “So I told him if banewort decided his prices, it must be fairly precious to him. Perhaps I could even pay him with my private stock of it, then.”
Triss laughed. “I suppose he wasn’t much of a proponent for that idea.”
“However did you guess?” Yennefer’s laugh was just a little tense, and her cheeks a little more flushed than the heat of the room explained away.
Oh, her stalwart little girl was adapting quickly. Tissaia hardly knew whether to be proud or dismayed. No, this wouldn’t do. Setting her jaw, Tissaia increased her focus. What she’d done before had been easy, a clear transference between touch and recipient. This, however, required a bit more finesse.
Two fingers moved past the side of her wrist, and she imagined how it would feel if they entered Yennefer, how the warm wetness engulfed them, pulsating walls welcoming the intrusion as she pressed on, stroking and massaging inside.
Yennefer let out a choked little gasp that she hid behind a dignified cough. Her cheeks were flaming red.
“Yennefer, are you quite alright?” Tissaia asked, once the magic was set in motion, and her fingers and Yennefer’s perception of them were connected by mutual understanding.
“Yes,” Yennefer gave back, eyes wide with shock, but also a fair amount of genuine awe.
Tissaia allowed a satisfied little smirk to grace her lips in return.
“You do look a little flushed,” Triss agreed, looking between her and Tissaia.
“I–“
Tissaia pressed her fingers against her own arm, imagining that to be the sensitive spot inside of Yennefer, the one that made her shudder and roll her hips.
“I guess I’m a little hot. I could use a drink, if you don’t mind?” She smiled at Triss.
“Oh, erm. Of course, I’ll be right back.”
Triss had hardly turned her back when Yennefer’s face slipped into deep indignation. “What in the heavens are you doing?” she hissed.
“Hm?” Tissaia put on an innocent smile as she massaged the spot on her arm, rubbing back and forth.
Without Triss to compel composure, Yennefer couldn’t quite suppress the shudder. “Tissaia.”
“I am simply following up on a suggestion.”
She could watch the gears turning in Yennefer’s head as slowly, realisation dawned on her features.
“You said anywhere, anytime, unless I misremember?” She didn’t. It had been a carefully worded question following up on an idea Yennefer had carelessly let drop.
Yes, Tissaia, whenever you wish for it, Yennefer had laughed. Anywhere, anytime.
“That was not what I had in mind.”
Tissaia stepped a little closer, making sure her rhythm remained steady even as she leaned in to whisper into her lover’s ear. “But isn’t that my decision to make, my darling girl?”
The reaction was more visceral than anything the phantom sensation elicited. Yennefer’s breath stuttered audibly.
“Hm?” Tissaia asked. “You’re mine, after all.” Her finger stilled against her arm.
It took a couple of uneven breaths before Yennefer trusted her voice enough to reply. “I’m yours, Arch-Mistress.”
Tissaia stepped away, satisfied, fingers resuming their movement, a thumb on her wrist rubbing in circles, imagining that it was Yennefer’s clit that she was touching.
“Quiet,” Tissaia murmured. “Triss is coming back.”
Yennefer’s eyes widened in something akin to horror.
“Here you go, Yenna.” She handed her a glass of dark wine, so red it looked almost black in the low light of the ballroom. A similar colour to the dress Yennefer was wearing.
Triss picked up her own glass of wine from the nearby table. Tissaia would have joined them, but her fingers were rather busy and she’d be loath to stop just yet.
“So, what did the merchant say, dear?” Tissaia turned her attention back to Yennefer, before Triss had time to wonder. “Did you receive your potion after all?”
Tissaia focused on Yennefer’s clit, rubbing harder, relishing the way her hips twitched away from the ghost touch. Not that she could get away. There was no use adjusting the angle or intensity, as long as Tissaia was touching her own arm.
A rather helpless situation. She made sure to let that thought slip through her barriers and into Yennefer’s receptive mind. It earned her a disbelieving chuckle, then Yennefer cleared her throat. “No. I took my business elsewhere.”
“Oh, Yennefer!” The familiar voice came so out of nowhere that even Tissaia startled. “I thought you wouldn’t make it.”
“Philippa,” Yennefer returned the greeting frigidly, accepting the impersonal embrace and kiss on the cheek. “I thought the same about you.”
Triss dared a sideways glance, offering a pained grimace of a smile that Tissaia returned in a similar fashion.
“What brings you to Aedirn?” Yennefer continued as she freed herself from Philippa’s lingering touch on her arm.
“Business,” Philippa replied ambiguously. “And pleasure.”
Her eyes fell on Triss in a way that left little to the imagination. Tissaia would sneer at it if it weren’t so hypocritical.
“One more than the other, I assume,” Yennefer gave back, having caught the look as well. Tissaia brushed her thumb over her wrist harder and faster in reprimand.
She hadn’t expected Yennefer to let out an audible hiss, or for her whole body to jump.
It was Philippa’s turn to ask, then. “Are you quite alright?”
“Splendid,” Yennefer assured her, her eyes set firmly on Tissaia. “Just a twinge in my back.”
“Perhaps we should sit?” Triss suggested, motioning to the nearby table at the side of the room.
“A good idea,” Yennefer was quick to agree and began to walk with steps that didn’t quite look right.
Tissaia felt Philippa’s eyes on her and offered an inconspicuous smile.
Triss and Yennefer sat down on one side of the table, Tissaia on the other. Philippa, infuriatingly, decided to remain standing, hovering behind Tissaia like a hawk. The silent presence in her back was uncomfortable to say the least.
As the two younger sorceresses fell back into idle conversation, Tissaia was keenly aware of the movement beneath her sleeve, sacrificing some of the momentum to err on the side of caution. She couldn’t tell exactly where Philippa’s eyes were, and she’d rather not have to invent an explanation.
“Well, Yennefer,” Philippa said, and Tissaia ignored the urge to twist around to look at her. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Oh, quite,” Yennefer replied. The flush on her face hadn’t quite vanished, and she didn’t manage to sit entirely still, but she must have adapted to the constant stimulation. “Though I admit I am a little bored.”
Violet eyes fixated on Tissaia, the fire in them a dangerous taunt. Oh, sweet child, you should know better than to dare me.
Yennefer’s red-painted lips twitched into a smirk, then her expression returned to neutral.
“Bored?” Philippa said, though Tissaia hardly listened. “Well, the musicians will soon be playing dance music, I am sure of it.”
“Oh, I’m not much of a dancer.”
Tissaia closed her eyes in concentration.
“Hard to please, then,” Philippa concluded.
“The opposite. All I require for a pleasant evening is good wine and good company.” She tipped her half-full glass back and forth, watching the blood-red liquid slosh against the rim.
In the meantime, Tissaia made her fingers grow. At first, they doubled in size, then they tripled, stretching Yennefer’s walls. In fact, they weren’t fingers at all. They had merged into one, the mass of them turning into one phallic shape. Elongating and widening yet, the phallus stroked deeper and deeper with every brush of Tissaia’s fingers against her arm. Filling her, stretching her, wider and wider, ever-growing.
Yennefer paled. Her eyes were wide in terror, and there was no hiding the effect it had on her now. Without as much as raising her eyebrows, Tissaia continued to stroke her skin, pumping into her lover hard and fast without mercy.
Yennefer gripped the edge of the table.
“Yenna?” Triss asked, alarmed. “Do you need something? Are you sick?”
Philippa’s hand coming down on Tissaia’s shoulder almost broke her focus too much to keep up the illusion. She shrugged it off at once to focus. Her thumb drew hard circles on her wrist, and she imagined how sensitive Yennefer’s clit must be from the constant attention, how much she’d want to pull away from the onslaught if she had the chance. But she was helpless. For Tissaia to use, anywhere, anytime she so desired.
She made sure to transfer that line of thought as well.
Yennefer’s knuckles were white. “A dizzy spell,” she gritted out. “I…Just a moment.”
Not much longer would be needed, surely.
The phallus grew yet, and it plunged deep, as deep as it could, and as hard as Yennefer could possibly withstand. A relative measurement, and viciously effective to the manipulated mind stuck in an elaborate illusion. Effective enough that the illusion of an orgasm grew redundant. Yennefer’s mind alone took care of that.
A shudder went through Yennefer, a sheen of sweat on her forehead as she struggled to catch her breath.
“My, you look feverish,” Triss murmured. “Perhaps some fresh air, dear?”
Yennefer blinked a couple of times, eyes unfocused now, clearly not too far from an actual dizzy spell indeed. “That…” She cleared her throat. “That isn’t a terrible idea.”
She stood on shaky legs, Triss’s arm linking under hers to stabilise her as they walked toward the balcony.
The hand was back on her shoulder, squeezing almost gently as Philippa leaned down to whisper into her ear. “You have me intrigued, Arch-Mistress.”
Tissaia couldn’t help but smile.
“Do you happen to have some reading material for a personal study of mine?”
“I’m afraid it was empirical work entirely. None of it is documented as of yet.” A devilish thought crossed her mind. “Though, granted, if you find a moment, I would be pleased to show you my findings.”
A momentary pause. “A visual instruction, then?”
“Something of the sort.”
“May I invite Triss? I have a feeling she would find it rather enlightening.”
“Very well. Tomorrow in the bathhouse, perhaps?”
There was a noticeable tremor in Philippa’s voice. “We shall meet you there.”