She smelled the blood before she saw the body. It happened sometimes, perhaps inevitably, during a girl’s early days at the school. A sorceress’s entrance to Aretuza was always marked by loss, by pain, by betrayal. Tissaia knew, as they all did, how much their kind was scorned, feared, and rejected. The world did not reward difference. It only took what was exploitable, and then left the rest to rot. This girl, bleeding out onto the stone floor, knew that already. Tissaia saw that, as she also saw her twisted body, her misshapen spine. Bought for what, half the cost of a pig? Yes, this girl knew exactly what the world was. And as much as Tissaia’s heart clenched in her chest at the sight of this broken child, she knew that this was exactly the girl she could use. Cradling the slashed wrists gently while murmuring words intended to mend, Tissaia felt a whisper of a centuries old discomfort from a complaint long since healed. She felt again the twisted coil of a misshapen foot, curled and clubbed at her left side. And while washing the blood from the girl’s face and tucking her back into her blankets, she remembered the stiffness of longed-healed burns, wrapping around her torso like the only embrace a malformed cripple could hope for. Tissaia watched the girl breathe easier in her sleep, and settled into an uneasy vigil, aware she would not have taken such care for another student. It was many hours till dawn, she knew.
It started as a stray thought, drifting on the air. As incorporeal as a scent. The girls, she knew, were young, impressionable, and, frequently, vulnerable. Yennefer was no different. Brattier than most. And while her spine was twisted, it was also, regrettably, made of steel. Tissaia had butted heads against her more than her current brood combined. Frankly, the rectoress was at a loss to overcome Yennefer’s obstinance.
And so here they were, Tissaia trying desperately to frighten Sabrina into a creating a successful glamour spell whilst bending over the girl’s prone form, when she became aware of a rather new development with her troublesome student. Like the others, Yennefer was paying careful attention to the lesson at hand, but her eyes seemed to be trained, rather fixedly, on the arch of Tissaia’s ass. Grunting somewhat in surprise, Tissaia straightened her back and very carefully resisted turning around. Throughout the rest of the lesson, Yennefer’s thoughts stayed intently carnal in nature. And Tissaia was forced to endure the rather, ahem, creative fantasies the girl weaved. She was just grateful the entire class was not informed of Yenna’s predilection towards, admittedly, rather fantastic sheer yet supportive undergarments.
“Thank you, ladies, that will be all for today. Please memorize the rest of the incantations for tomorrow.”
“Rectoress can I work on my sky-reading in the tower tonight?” “May I please use a horse for a ride?” “’Brina’s still blue should I fetch a bucket of water?”
Tissaia swept out of the room as quickly as she felt she could get away with as curious violet eyes followed her path. Rushing back to her quarters, she stumbled at her door, wrenching open the doors before slamming them shut.
She gulped in air as she desperately tried to erase the erotic images from her mind. There she was, bent over her desk, taken roughly from behind, back arched, crying out in agony and ecstasy. And again, pushed up against a wall in a cupboard, strong arms supporting her from below as she grasped the hair of her partner, hips seizing in pleasure. Pressing her back harder against the door, she shut her eyes against the onslaught of erotica. She gritted her teeth as she waded through several scenes featuring her office desk. Clearly, someone had a bit of a fixation.
Her (favourite?) image so far was the simplest; silver moonlight casting a blue pale over a bedroom as she rides the body of her lover below. Her slow grind, the illuminated shape of her hips, the gentle sway as she leans forward to bestow a kiss, her hair falling like water, two hands finding each other in the dark. That, Tissaia had difficulty keeping from her mind. Had she ever been seen so? Lust she was well familiar with. Every king she had served over a hundred years had sought to turn her into such a pliant play thing. And while lust played a part in all the fantasies she had cycled through, there was no hiding the care and worship present.
Her back to the door, Tissaia throbbed as she tried desperately to rein in the need pulsing through her body. After many moments, shaking, she gave in. Hiking up her skirts, she traced an invisible line up the path of her thighs. Gasping as she reaching the drenched apex of her thighs, she gently pushed her undergarments aside, and began to tease around her clitoris. She struggled to control the sound of her cries as she moved against herself, faster and faster, finally dipping inside with her other hand, clenching her front walls. As she comes, Tissaia finds herself focusing on one last image; that of Yennefer, head bent between her thighs.
Lust quenched, Tissaia was left with nothing but the yearning. This, she knew, complicated things.