Chapter 48: Happy Ex-Hooker
Half an hour later, Chanel was sitting in a lotus pose on the sand across from us, considerably more relaxed now, an intellectual siphon pulling down answers to question after question.
“All right, show me!” she demanded at one point. “Not you two showing me you can do magic, I mean show me that I can!”
“Let’s get you back into that trance, Chanel,” I said in my practiced guru tone. “It’ll be partial proof, and it’ll help us show you what you need to know to achieve that proof for yourself.”
She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, calmed herself, and was almost instantly in trance.
«Very, very good,» I praised her. Chanel’s eyes came open, and she held the trance state. «Most people cannot get into trance anywhere near this fast. It took my wife months to get that fast.»
«Been doing it since childhood,» she reminded us.
«Well, to that proof you demand. Not going to be satisfied with holding a conversation without moving your lips, are you?»
«Not sure I believe it’s even happening yet. Gimme something else.»
«Close your eyes, Chanel, and feel out for our bodies.» I could sense her presence reaching out for us, so I sent, «Yes, you have it. Now pull back and sense yourself.»
The presence retreated, and her eyes opened wide. Aloud, she said, “I feel…bad!” Her lower lip quivered, and she asked tremulously, “Are you two some kind of angels or something? Am I going to Hell for what I done?”
That slip into uneducated dialect there at the end worried me deeply, since it spoke to a deep-seated fear in her, but I just continued in my guru tone, “No, Chanel, we’re as mortal as you. You aren’t feeling your soul or anything unprovable like that. You’re sensing the malaise we were working on when you broke through to us, the ‘stuff’ we were speaking of at the time.”
“I’m just sick?” she asked, calming.
“I’d hardly say ‘just,’ my dear,” my wife said sadly, reentering the conversation. “By my count, you had five other infections.”
“Had? Other?” she asked.
“Yes, ‘had,’” I confirmed. “Squish bye.”
“But yes,” my wife added, “other, as in those five weren’t the only ones you had. There’s one left, which you can feel while naked and in trance. That’s the bad stuff we were trying to get rid of when you overheard us, so to speak. Davie thinks it’s herpes, but it’s just an educated guess, Chanel. We aren’t doctors.”
“Fuck! How‽”
“Never mind how you got it,” I told her. “What matters first is getting rid of it. We were doing the magical equivalent of napalm bombing runs on it for about half an hour when we were interrupted.”
Still in rapport with me, Kaitlyn continued my thought without consultation, “And second, we need to find your sexual partners and see about getting them cured, too.”
“Sheeeyit,” Chanel said, eyes falling guiltily. “I used protection!”
“Stow that noise,” I told her sternly. “Guilt won’t get us anywhere useful. Action will.”
“All right, then, what’re we going to do?” she asked, looking apprehensively back and forth between us.
I looked down at the sand, knowing how hard we’d worked on it so far, knowing how deeply this disease had defeated us.
Speaking quietly by my side, Kaitlyn said, “Only one option left.”
I replied through the bond, doing my best to constrain the thought’s target to my wife only, «I’m not at all confident I can cure herpes.»
Kaitlyn pointed out, «You cured my mom’s cancer.»
I retorted, «Cancer’s curable by mainstream medicine, but they’ve only managed to come up with palliative remedies for herpes. What if we try and fail as mainstream medicine has, ending up infected?»
«We have to try, Davie.»
I sighed, knowing she was right, but I tried one more time, still deeply worried. «Think what failure would mean to this plan to heal others, Kaitlyn. It would largely rule out sex magic for us forever, at least with others. We could still use it to heal areas of nature, but if your mother’s cancer came back or something like it hit another family member, we might not be able to act for fear of infecting them, too.»
Kaitlyn’s eyes dropped, then she sighed in turn before lifting her determined mien to me. “So we’d better not fail,” she said aloud.
We looked at Chanel.
“What‽” she demanded.
My wife answered, “Chanel, the most powerful magic we know is sex magic. Normal magic hasn’t worked. It’s time to bring out the big guns.”
“You tell me I have fucking herpes, and now you want to have sex with me?”
My wife chuckled uneasily, eyes dropping down and to the left. “‘Want’ is not quite the right word. We’re scared, Chanel. Scared of getting sick ourselves, scared of not being able to cure you at all.”
“Look, I said I wanted you two, but not at this cost! Gimme ten bucks for a pair of D batteries, and I’ll go find Old Faithful, okay?”
I said, “We have a moral obligation, Chanel. We have to try.”
She laughed wryly. “That’s a new pickup line, Davie, and here I thought I’d heard ’em all.” In a caricature of my Indian English accent, she added, “Hello, girly-person. I am Guru Ramalongdong, and I trained under Boobasilkjammies the Root-Wringer as a magical doctor. I can cure any disease known to man or ghod as long as I have my elephant trunk slipped so far up you I’m tickling your core chakra!”
I laughed at that hard enough to draw tears.
That brought Kaitlyn along far enough to grin crookedly at me, though she sent, «You aren’t offended?»
I replied directly to my wife, keeping Chanel out of it, «C’mon now, that’s funny stuff. Relax. Besides, I’m keeping the name: you may address me as Guru Ramalongdong from now on, girly-person.»
Kaitlyn smacked me playfully for that, which just sent me into another round of laughter.
As Chanel’s appreciative grin faded, she squinted a bit and said, “How do I know I have herpes anyway? It’s just your word.”
Ah, a softball. “Another hypothesis that doesn’t hold water, Chanel,” I told her. “First, we were on the precipice of having sex before all of this went down, us holding back, you nearly demanding it.”
She nodded in acceptance of this point, so I continued, “Second, ask yourself, do you feel better in your person?”
She sunk a little deeper into her sitting pose, breathed deeply, and said, “Yeah, I do, but why not? I just got a great massage.”
My wife took a small gamble, asking, “How long has the itching and burning been going on down there?”
Chanel’s hands shot for her crotch, but she didn’t say anything.
“Gone now, isn’t it,” my wife said with a small smile on her lips, clearly telling, not asking.
“Yeah,” Chanel said quietly. Then in wonder, added, “You’re right, it is gone!”
I said, “Funny how you don’t notice irritations when they disappear, only after they first appear. We suspect you’ve just been living with these infections so long that you’re only now remembering what it feels like to be clean and healthy.”
“Maybe,” she replied.
“Right, so provisionally chalk that up as proof that we can cure lesser diseases, so we have a chance at going after the big one,” I said. She nodded, so I continued my list, “Third, you already have independent evidence for herpes. How long have those sores been there around your lady bits?”
She looked down, then touched one tenderly, wincing. “A while I guess.”
“And you never had it checked by a doctor?” my wife asked with eyes and tone of voice that added, “What the hell were you thinking?” though she didn’t say it.
Chanel’s eyes dropped, and in a quiet voice she said, “I guess I just didn’t want to think about it. Cognitive dissonance.” At our surprised look, she said, “I took Psych 101 last year, all right? Got an A, too. And before you ask, no, I didn’t sleep with the prof, all right? I never did that.”
I continued, “Right, well… Fourth, you could go and get tested, but if it comes back positive and then we cure you, there’s a record for someone to find on a subsequent test that could send up red flags. You could end up a research lab rat while they try to figure out how you got rid of the infection. We’d prefer to just cure you on the QT.”
My wife added, “Go have the test afterward, if you want. Just give us a shot at curing it our way first, okay?”
“You’re going to keep insisting, aren’t you?” Chanel asked.
“Have to,” my wife said simply.
“We swore an oath,” I added.
“You gonna give me some line about the Hippocratic Oath now?” Chanel replied incredulously.
“Yes,” I told her flatly.
Her eyebrows went up, realizing I was dead serious, so she said, “Oh. Sorry. No disrespect meant.”
I said, “Forgiven,” but said no more, not wanting to push her into a decision.
Chanel looked between us a few times, sighed, and said, “All right, let’s do this.”
Through the rapport link I felt my wife about to accept, but I spoke before she could, “Hang on, one thing first. It could be the hormones talking here.” I felt Kaitlyn accede to this point through the bond, so I turned to Chanel and said, “Get into a trance. We’re going to show you something really really cool before we go back after that infection.”
Chanel sighed in exasperation but did as I asked. When I felt her magical presence join us in rapport, I tingled her twat with a level 1 mage-egg buzz. Her eyes snapped open, and she lost the trance again.
“What was that?” she demanded.
I just said, “Get back into trance and watch it. Best way.”
She gave an irritated grunt but closed her eyes and was soon back with us.
I gave her level 2, moving the sensation all around her labia, up her vaginal canal, over her clit, down her gluteal crack and around her anus.
Her eyes scrunched shut in pleasure, but she opened them again with a will, hanging onto the trance this time. «What is this?» she asked through the bond, with better control this time.
«We call it the mage-egg,» my wife told her. «Ever had one of those vibrating pussy eggs?»
Chanel laughed at that and lost the trance again. “Kaitlyn, I fucking broke one of those, I used it so much!”
My wife laughed back, and I grinned at the thought of it.
“Morning, noon, and night for two weeks, I wore that thing everywhere, shower time to bed time, even ran it during class!”
We let her return from the land of memory, knowing she’d get it herself if we gave her the time.
“No way!” she exclaimed.
I replied gnomically, “Batteries not included, because batteries not necessary.”
My wife promised, “In time, you’ll learn to do it, too. Now watch and learn.”
Chanel began fighting valiantly to keep her trance through the pleasure of level 3.
«Very nice!» I sent.
«Not just nice, it’s fucking awesome!» Chanel returned, distractedly mistaking my comment as being directed at her rather than my wife, then demanded, «More!»
My wife turned it up to level 4.
«More!»
Five.
«More, dammit!»
Six!
My wife and I had erected a sort of shield by this point, remaining in trance with Gaia but not in rapport with Chanel, much the same way that a welder puts a barrier between himself and his workpiece. We were heating her to the white-hot point, and we didn’t need to be distracted by her sexual fire, only wield it upon her bare person.
Chanel was in a sort of kneeling crab pose by that point, hands on the sand behind her, heels under her butt, knees apart, lubricating heavily, dripping on the sand. She began breathing sharply, core muscles tensing, her back bowing.
«I said more, damn you both!»
My wife gave her level 7, the setting that she knew would reliably drop her to the ground twitching, but somehow Chanel rode it, wailing and panting like a Greek goddess bareback on a lightning bolt.
Through the bond, the goddess sent, «Moremoremoremore!»
«Dare I?» my wife sent to me.
«We have to get her off if we’re going to get her to think rationally about her choices,» I pointed out.
My wife, out of whole cloth and womanly intuition about such matters, invented level 8.
Chanel went down hard on the sand, spasming and yelling in orgasmic completion. “Aaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiyyyeeeeeee!” Her core muscles were clenching hard now, and her thighs had slammed shut with a loud clap!
Despite the magical shielding we’d put up, we felt that orgasm splash around us, dissipating its force upon us and upon our back yard. My cock rose about an inch into an erection despite my self-control, and Kaitlyn began lubricating. She gasped slightly at this second-hand sensation, imagining what it must have felt like to Chanel. I had to remind her to turn off the mage-egg, she was so distracted.
It took some time for our messy young friend to come down out of the clouds.
Chanel eventually relaxed into a star pose on the sand, staring at the deepening blue evening sky. Sunset couldn’t be long off now.
Her first words were, “Don’t need Old Faithful now. Not sure I need human sex partners, for that matter.”
We chuckled knowingly. Been there, done that, though not at quite that intensity.
Her next words were, “Now let me see if I’ve got this right…”
I began to look at my wife when my cock ignited. From the sound I heard to my side, my eyes clenched tightly shut, I knew Kaitlyn was feeling it, too. No, I didn’t need to see or hear it, we were feeding back through each other, our sexual bliss reverberating between us in rapport.
And its source was Chanel!
I felt no evil from her. She was in rapport with us, so we knew her mind. She wasn’t trying to control us with sex magic, she was trying to pay us back. And it was working!
Chanel didn’t try to shield herself, she just jumped into the pool and reveled in the feeling, building herself up toward a second epic orgasm, bringing us along for the ride.
Kaitlyn said, «Use it, Davie!»
I needed no more explanation. As Chanel raised the intensity in line with our merged personal preference, I maintained enough of a sense of self that I could watch my developing orgasm, to hold it back until Chanel was ready to pop again. If we hadn’t been in rapport, that would have been well after we two were ready, but Kaitlyn also held back, our control in this matter well-honed by now.
Thus it was when Chanel finally went wailing over the orgasm waterfall, Kaitlyn sent, «Now!» through the mage bond, and we collectively harnessed the magical power of the tripled mage orgasm and slammed its power into Chanel’s body, covering her wholly, not wanting to miss a single virus.
I lost my sense of hearing for a time: the orgasm was so white-hot that I heard no orgasmic bellowing, no screams of ecstasy, no impassioned calls to each individual’s favored higher power.
What I do know is that the next thing I saw was the sky fading from indigo on one horizon to pink-orange on the other. I know I don’t remember falling flat to the ground like that.
And I certainly don’t remember spewing spooge all over myself and the sand!
“Shower time,” I croaked. “Then we watch the sunset and try to heal.”
I got a silent assent through the rapport link.
And through the same link, I saw that it had worked: Chanel was virus-free!
“Well, that was easy,” my wife quipped.
We fell back onto the sand laughing.