Chapter 1

Archived Version

The Novarian Empire — a miraculous nation blessed by the torrential flows of magic.

On this strange continent, woven together from floating island clusters and eternal-night forests, magic is not merely a tool. It is breath. It is blood. It is absolute power.

Here, from the very moment of birth, people are sorted into ranks by the measuring rod of magical ability.

Those who awaken powerful magic are destined to live on the sun-drenched floating islands — the Upper City — where they enjoy the finest resources, the highest social standing, and the reverent worship of ordinary folk. Meanwhile, those with feeble magic, or none at all — the “defective goods” — are cast away like trash to the surface below, where sunlight never reaches — the Lower City — condemned to the dirtiest, most gruelling labour, where even the most basic human rights are a luxury beyond reach.

It is a brutal yet ironclad order: the strong dominate everything, and the weak submit to their fate.

And at the most dazzling centre of the Upper City — in the penthouse residence atop the National Academy of Magical Research — lives a young woman who commands the attention of the entire empire.

Celia von Novarian.

If the Novarian Empire were a crown, she would be its most radiant jewel.

Her parents are both Arch mages, standing at the empire's very pinnacle, holding dominion over its most classified and forbidden research. Celia inherited this noble bloodline flawlessly — and then surpassed it. She triggered her first magical tide at age three, could cast intermediate spells instantaneously by five, and now, having just turned eighteen, she is universally recognized as “the greatest genius beauty-mage the empire has seen in a century.”

Her life is like a grand boulevard paved in gold and flowers.

At the National Noble Magic Academy, she is the goddess every student looks up to. Whether it is arcane magical theory or complex practical combat drills, she crushes everyone with a kind of effortless, maddening elegance.

“Miss Celia is just too perfect.”

“I know — that noble air of hers… it's almost like she's a divine being.”

Every single day, she is bathed in praise like this.

She has no worries. Her parents have more money than they could ever spend, and her family holds supreme, unassailable power. Her future has been mapped out in meticulous detail: graduate at the top of her class, move directly into a core position at the National Research Institute, then marry the son of some equally blue-blooded duke and carry on the legacy.

It should be the perfect life that countless people can only dream of.

And yet — beneath that glittering, glamorous surface, deep within a rose-pink boudoir wrapped in layer upon layer of defensive barrier wards, hides a secret that would make even the gods blush.

Late night. Celia's bedroom.

This was the most heavily fortified place in the entire estate — without Celia's permission, not even a fly could get in.

“Haa~…haa~…”

On that lavish four-poster bed — large enough to sleep five people — the pristine silk sheets had been twisted into a crumpled mess, soaked through with sweat and riddled with translucent dried stains.

The Celia who was always so proud and icily beautiful in public, who wouldn't even allow a speck of dust on the hem of her dress — that same Celia was now completely naked, writhing across the bed like a snake in heat.

Her long silver hair — the mark of her noble bloodline — was splayed in a tangled mess across the pillow, strands of it plastered to her cheeks, slick with fragrant sweat. Those pale violet eyes, normally so cool and composed, had long since rolled back, glazed over with a dreamy, stupefied haze.

Those slender, delicate hands that had cast countless high-tier spells were now frantically kneading her own breasts — perfectly developed, not too much, not too little. Her fingernails dug deep into the snow-white flesh, leaving trail after trail of lewd red marks.

“I'm… a worthless bitch… ngh…”

Her voice was hoarse, laced with a sick, self-degrading edge.

“Big cock~♥ fuck me to death… oh… oh… mmph♥~!”

As her fingers worked frantically at the drenched, dripping slit between her thighs, Celia's entire body convulsed violently. Her hips arched upward all at once, curving into an obscene, inviting bow.

“Squirt——!!”

A gush of clear, slick fluid came pouring from her pink folds, soaking the velvet bedding beneath her.

“I'm cumming… haaaaah——!!”

When it was over, Celia lay sprawled across the bed, her little pink tongue lolling out, eyes closed, savouring the ebbing waves of pleasure.

“I really am… such a slut, aren't I ❤~.”

If the boys at the academy could see her now, their blood vessels would burst on the spot. Who could have ever imagined — that goddess who stood at the lectern and chanted incantations with such elegant grace were, behind closed doors, an absolute masochist who spewed filth and called herself a bitch?

She hadn't even rested a full minute before her brow furrowed again.

“Mmn, no good… it's not enough… it's starting to itch again~ mmph♥~.”

Ever since she'd accidentally opened that Pandora's box at age ten, her body had been trained to grow more and more sensitive. It started with just touching herself down there, then she discovered her nipples, and now… ordinary fingers were completely useless against the desire that swelled larger with every passing day.

“If fingers won't cut it, then I'll just use magic!”

She extended one finger, a precise magical array flickering to life at her fingertip. This was 【Advanced Telekinesis】 — normally used in combat to manipulate objects at will. But for this genius girl, it served one purpose perfectly: the ultimate masturbation aid.

“Come here, my little darling~.”

Guided by her magical pull, a grotesquely shaped, impressively sized realistic dildo floated up from the night stand.

“Get inside me… fill it all the way up ❤.”

“Squelch~!”

Under the control of her magic, the thick dildo plunged in to the hilt without a single obstruction.

“Ah ❤~! It's in… mmmh-yiii!!”

Celia let out a shuddering sigh of satisfaction.

Then the telekinesis kicked into full gear. The dildo began thrusting inside her at a frequency no human could ever achieve.

“Hnngh~! Feels so good~ ❤! So good—— faster! Fuck me harder!”

“Slap slap slap slap slap!” The base of the dildo smacked savagely against her folds.

“Mmn—— oh oh oh ❤ I can't ❤~ I can't take it ❤!!”

The stimulation pushed far beyond any physical limit, and she lost all reason completely.

“I'm Master's sex slave ❤ I'm the most worthless bitch ❤… ghoooooh——❤——!!!”

With one final savage thrust, Celia crested again.

“Ghooooh oh oh oh ahhhh~~!!!”

The magical array dissolved. The dildo was pulled free with a wet pop, and a gush of slick fluid came flooding out in its wake. That stretched-open little hole worked open and shut like a greedy little mouth, as if it were still gasping for breath.

“My brain… is gonna break ❤~.” Celia murmured lewdly, her face flushed burning red.

Her body had been satisfied — but the hollow feeling in her chest had only grown deeper.

“A toy… is still just a toy after all…”

She ran her fingers over her own stiffened, swollen nipples. Lately, no matter what new toy she bought or what magic she used, nothing could douse the fire inside her that kept blazing hotter. She craved warmth. She craved real touch. She craved being roughly, brutally impaled by a real man.

“Ahh~ ❤~!”

The thought alone made her eyes go dangerous and hazy.

“Who would ever guess that the exalted number-one genius mage is just a cock-starved little slut…”

She licked the corner of her lips. A wild, reckless idea began to take shape in her mind.

“Since I'm the strongest… then even if I find some lowlife to play with… that should be fine, right? As long as I dispose of him when I'm done…”

The following evening. Dusk had settled over the Upper City, and the noble estates had fallen into their usual quiet.

But inside that rose-pink boudoir, Celia was in the middle of preparations for what she considered the most important affair of her life. After a full day of fierce internal debate, the empire's number-one genius witch had finally made up her mind — tonight, she was going to find out what a real, living, breathing man felt like.

“If I'm going to do this, I'm going all the way.”

Celia stood before her enormous floor-length mirror, staring at the completely unfamiliar stranger looking back at her.

The Celia who always wore elaborate, elegant mage robes — who would never casually bare so much as her collarbone — looked like an entirely different person.

On her lower half: a pair of blue low-rise denim short-shorts. There was almost no fabric to speak of. They left her long, slender legs completely bare, and a full third of her round, pert backside was on open display — what was vulgarly known as “booty shorts.”

Her legs were sheathed in a pair of ultra-sheer, semi-transparent black thigh-highs. The lace bands gripped tightly around the plush upper curve of her thighs, pressing in to leave a perfect ring of indentation in the soft flesh — that forbidden zone of absolute temptation. On her feet, a pair of glossy black mid-calf boots that made her legs look both long and leanly powerful.

And her upper half was even bolder.

She wasn't wearing a bra.

Just a white fitted crop top, buttons done up to her chest — but the fabric was pulled so tight it had no choice but to thrust her well-developed breasts into two firm, proud peaks. With every breath, the hem barely managed to cover her areolas. Her bare nipples pressed visibly against the fabric, appearing and disappearing with each shift of her body, while the full, rounded undersides of her breasts peeked in and out of view.

Her slender little waist was completely bare, two clean lines of ab muscle tracing down from her navel and disappearing into the low waistband of her shorts, leaving everything else to the imagination.

“Heh heh, what a little vixen.”

Celia looked at herself in the mirror. That silver hair — the mark of her noble blood — spilled over her shoulders like moonlight, a striking contrast against the trashy, street-worn look she'd put together. Those eyes that were normally so icy and imperious now glittered with a playful, shameless heat.

“If Mother and Father saw me dressed like this, they'd probably faint on the spot.”

She let herself imagine showing up in front of those lowlife men dressed exactly like this — pictured their greedy, disgusting, hunger-soaked stares, pictured those rough hands pinning her against a wall and doing whatever they pleased with her…

“Mmn… ❤~!”

Celia couldn't help squeezing her thighs together, the soft inner flesh rubbing against itself and sending a tingle of pleasure rippling through her.

“No man could keep his hands off this… heh heh.”

She struck the most provocative lip-licking pose she could manage at her reflection — the kind of expression you'd only ever see on the most depraved of succubi.

“Oh right, I almost forgot the most important thing.”

Celia turned and walked to the night stand, pulling open that drawer stuffed full of toys. Tucked in the corner was a small, elegant little box.

It was a high-grade alchemical contraceptive — the kind she'd quietly procured from the black market using a concealment spell.

“I want to get fucked… but getting pregnant by accident would be a problem. I do still have the family legacy to carry on, after all.”

She reached in with her slender fingers and pulled out several neatly packaged condoms, stuffing them into the already-bursting pocket of her shorts.

[Three should be enough, right? Or should I bring five? What if the guy is really something?]

She turned it over in her mind as she finished stuffing them in, then gave the bulging little pocket a pat through the fabric.

“Alright! Fully prepared!”

Celia took a deep breath and steadied her restless, racing heart.

“Now then… it's hunting time!”

She raised her hand, a faint violet light flickering to life at her fingertip.

【Mass Cognitive Obstruction】【Advanced Invisibility】

As the spells activated, her figure gradually grew transparent in the air, until she vanished entirely.

The empire's most noble genius witch slipped silently through the estate's layered barrier wards and flew toward the slums of the Lower City — that world of filth, sin, and raw, primal desire.

She thought of herself as the hunter going out on a hunt. What she didn't know was that to that lawless world, a naive little lamb like her was the most perfect prey of all.

The Lower City. Pleasure Street, District Thirteen.

The light of a teleportation spell flickered and died in a shadowy alleyway entrance. Celia's figure materialized on this street soaked through with vice and want.

The air was thick with cheap perfume, fermented vomit, and something else — something raw and animal that had no clean name. Neon signs blinked in garish red. Streetwalkers in barely there clothing lined both sides of the road, calling out to passersby. Drunks lay snoring in the garbage heaps at the curb. And from certain dark corners came the wet slap of flesh on flesh and the wailing cries of women.

“Ugh, what a revolting place.”

Celia wrinkled her delicate little nose and looked around with open distaste.

“If I wasn't afraid of being seen up top, I'd never set foot in a dump like this.”

She strode down the middle of the street. That scorching-hot outfit — low-rise shorts, long legs in black stockings, a top that could barely contain her chest — combined with that conspicuous silver hair and imperious bearing made her stick out like a sore thumb on this grimy stretch of road. Like a white lotus blooming in a swamp, she drew every greedy eye in the vicinity instantly.

“Hey! You there, the sow!”

A crude voice suddenly called out to her.

Celia stopped and looked back. Slumped against the base of a wall was a filthy, bird's-nest-haired beggar, leering at her with a lecherous look on his face.

“Who are you talking to?” Celia raised an eyebrow, her gaze frigid. “You disgusting bum.”

She walked up to the beggar and looked down at him, her eyes full of contempt and disdain.

“Slut, dressing like that and coming to a place like this — you're just looking to get fucked, aren't you?” The beggar grinned, flashing a mouthful of yellowed teeth.

“You——” The blunt, filthy words hit her like a jab, and her face flushed red in an instant. “You piece of trash — hit a nerve, did I?”

The beggar climbed to his feet. His ragged clothes gave off a nauseating sour stench.

“Shut up! I am… I am the genius witch of the Upper City!” Celia puffed out her chest, trying to pull rank. “Even if I want to have sex, I wouldn't do it with a disgusting bum like you! You're the lowest of the low, the bottom of the bottom! You're vermin! I bet you can't even cast a fireball? A lady of my standing wouldn't give you a second look!”

“The fuck? Mouthy little bitch.”

Goaded past his limit, the beggar lunged. Those filth-caked hands shot out and seized Celia by her bare shoulder.

“What do you think you're doing! Let go——mmph?!”

Before Celia could get a single syllable of a defensive incantation out, a mouth reeking of foul breath crashed into hers and swallowed the rest.

“Sluurp——”

A coarse tongue, carrying the full stench of his breath, forced her lips apart and drove straight in — thrashing wildly inside that little mouth that had never once been touched by a man.

[Mmmph! Disgusting! The smell——!]

Celia's eyes went wide as she tried to push him off. But as that tongue tangled with hers, a strange heat spread from her mouth through her entire body.

[Ngh… it's so hot… is this what kissing is… tongues twisted together like this…]

That brutal, forceful violation was making her feel… a little good?

[It feels good… warm… slippery… sticky… ❤]

Her body slowly went soft. The hands that had been shoving at him curled instead into fists, gripping his tattered clothes for support.

“Haa~… haa~…”

When the deep kiss finally broke, Celia slumped to the ground, gasping hard. A glimmer of saliva trailed from the corner of her mouth and dripped onto the front of her white top that was already doing a poor job of covering anything — obscene beyond words.

“Heh heh, how's my kissing technique?” The beggar wiped his mouth and looked down at her with satisfaction.

“You bastard… I've never kissed anyone before…” Celia's eyes were hazy, her cheeks flushed deep red.

“Stop playing innocent, bitch. You're already wet down there, aren't you? Look at your nipples — they're poking right through.”

The beggar pointed. Sure enough, Celia's braless nipples were standing hard against the thin fabric of her top, like two ripe cherries pressing through.

“Let's try this then.”

Without a moment's foreplay, the beggar's hands yanked her shirt collar open and seized both of her snow-white breasts in a rough, crushing grip.

“Ohhhh ❤! It hurts~!”

Celia let out a sharp, sweet cry. His hands were strong — his fingernails dug into the soft flesh, and the spike of pain sent a shudder through her whole body.

“Hurts? You sure it hurts~? Hm, why are you a little wet? Are you pregnant?” The beggar felt the slick stickiness against his palms.

“No~”

“Then why is there milk leaking out of you, you horny little dairy cow.” He squeezed hard at her nipples — sure enough, a faint trace of clear fluid seeped out — the body fluid secreted at the peak of extreme arousal.

“Aren't you an Upper City noble? Fight back then. Blast me with your magic.” He kept kneading and taunting at the same time.

[I, the empire's greatest genius witch... being reduced to this by some beggar.]

A flicker of shame passed through Celia's mind — but what came after it was far stronger: the intoxicating rush of being conquered.

[Besides, when I get bored, I'll just kill him… no one's going to know anyway.]

The moment that thought surfaced, her desire ignited completely.

She stayed crouched where she was and stopped fighting. Instead, she slipped one hand down into her shorts and started playing with herself through her soaked underwear.

“Hmph… meeting me, the genius witch, is… mmn mmn~… a blessing for you… you filthy lowlife… be grateful… mmph ❤~.”

“Heh. Mouthy little slut.”

The beggar hauled her up and dragged her into an even darker alleyway nearby, one that reeked of stale piss.

“Get a good look. This is what a blessing looks like.”

He undid his waistband. His trousers dropped.

“Boing!”

A savage, dark-purple mass — a full twenty-five centimetres long and thick as a wrist — sprang free and swayed heavily in the air.

“Wha——?!”

Celia flinched back in shock. Even her biggest toy at home wasn't this size!

“Something this big… it'll break me if it goes in… oh ❤?!” The beggar pressed the length of his cock flat against Celia's face.

“Quit whining. Suck it.”

“But it's so big… there's no way it'll fit in my mouth…” She swallowed involuntarily without thinking.

“Won't fit? I'll make it fit!” The beggar grabbed the back of her head and shoved that massive thing into her mouth without another word.

“Glrk! Mmmph ❤! Can't… can't breathe~…”

The head forced its way past her throat and pressed straight toward her esophagus. The sensation of suffocation, the terror of being filled so completely, made Celia's eyes roll back.

“Nnnph! It's hitting… the back of my throat~!”

The beggar used her like a portable cocksleeve, gripping her head and thrusting back and forth. After a while, he drove in hard one final time.

“Splurt!” A thick, intense saltiness erupted across her mouth.

He pulled out and shot the rest across Celia's exquisite, beautiful face.

“So that's what cum tastes like~!” Celia stuck out her tongue and lapped at the white streaks on her face, a dazed, delirious smile spreading across her features.

“So hot… so pungent… so musky…. but…. nnngh…” The last part — so delicious — she swallowed back down along with what remained in her mouth.

“We're not done yet!” The beggar yanked her up, spun her around, and pressed her against the filth-caked wall, steadying himself to take her from behind.

“Eh? Not like that, please — at least, at least use a condom… I could get pregnant~!” What little reason Celia had left reminded her of what was in her pocket — though the voice she said it in was unmistakably tinged with anticipation.

“Fussy little sow. Get it out yourself. Put it on me with your mouth.”

Celia's hands trembled as she pulled out the premium condom, then crouched down, took that half-hard cock into her mouth, and clumsily worked the thin rubber sheath into place using nothing but her lips and tongue.

“Right then. Get up here.”

The beggar grabbed her by the throat, lifted her, and pinned her back against the wall.

This time, nothing stood in the way.

“Squelch——!!”

“Hnngh ❤ ohhhh~~!!”

Celia let out a scream that tore right through her. The pain of having her virginity truly taken — and the blinding, shattering pleasure of being impaled by something so enormous.

“A huge cock ❤ is inside me!”

“Hss… so tight… you filthy little thing~.”

“It's hitting my womb… hnngh hnngh ❤ ohhhh!!”

The beggar started thrusting — pistoning in and out, slamming against her ass with a sharp, wet clap.

“I, the genius witch of the highest rank… am actually having sex with a beggar ❤! Hnnghhh~, so this is what sex is… real sex ❤!!”

In that moment, the last of Celia's reason completely collapsed.

“My brain is melting… I've finally found my purpose as a female — I'm already in love with sex ❤~! … Harder! What's wrong with you, can't a useless bum like you do better than that?”

“The hell?! You mouthy bitch, you dare look down on me?!” The beggar was furious. One hand came down hard across Celia's full, lush rear, leaving a vivid red handprint.

“Smack!”

“Yiii yiii!! So good ❤! So good ❤!”

“You masochistic little sow!” The beggar tightened his grip around her throat from behind.

“Ohhhh~~…. Can't… can't breathe… gonna die ❤~!”

“Hnngh ohhhh I'm cumming ❤!! Oh oh oh oh!! You came inside me! My womb feels it, all that heat… I'm going to turn into a sow completely ❤!” Even through that thin layer of rubber, the scorching heat of it gave her every sensation of being filled raw. A violent, convulsive spasm — and both of them crested at the same moment.

After a brief rest.

“The condoms are all gone, I… I'm done…” Celia looked at the used ones on the ground, feeling simultaneously unsatisfied and a little afraid.

“It's fine, I'll pull out right before I finish,” the beggar coaxed. “Besides — don't you want to know what real sex feels like?”

“Real…”

“Skin against skin. No rubber between us, just going straight in. The warmth. The feeling… aren't you curious how many times better it is than doing it through a layer of latex?”

A wave of heat surged through Celia's lower belly.

“I… I do! I want a bare cock stuffed inside my little pussy… filled up all the way ❤!”

Desire had won out over reason.

The beggar got hard again. This time, there was nothing in between.

“Squelch~!”

The scorching head pressed directly against her tender cervix.

“Oh oh! It's inside me, a bare cock… inside my little pussy ❤~ So this is sex without a condom… real sex!”

Then, suddenly, the beggar stopped and pulled out.

“Why did you stop? Keep fucking me ❤.”

“Beg for it, sow. Still haven't figured out where you stand?”

“You filthy bum, just who do you think you——”

“Smack!”

The beggar cracked his palm hard across Celia's face and knocked her to the ground, then planted his foot on that beautiful face of hers.

“Ahh~ nngh nngh ❤! Hnngh ohh~!”

“You masochistic little sow — you love getting knocked around, don't you, you little slut?”

“❤ I do not…”

The beggar pulled off his belt and started lashing it across her naked body.

“Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!”

“Owww ohhhh ❤! It hurts ❤! Yiii oh oh oh ❤!”

Slick fluid poured ceaselessly from her pussy. The exalted genius mage — being pinned underfoot and whipped by some gutter-dwelling bum — the sheer, overwhelming humiliation of it drove Celia to the absolute peak of excitement.

“You're a filthy little sow down to your bones. Forget being a mage — you ought to just become a whore.”

“I'm sorry, Master… please fuck this sow to death ❤~!” Celia thrust her rear up and pressed her forehead to the ground in a prostrating bow, kneeling before the beggar.

“Finally figured out what you really are?” The beggar mounted her again — this time more savage than any time before.

“Yiii~! Master's cock is so big! It's hitting my womb~!”

Violent, pile-driving thrusts — the beggar hammered his cock deep into Celia's tight little hole, each stroke pulling out a flood of slick fluid.

“Slap——! Slap——! Slap——!” Every collision made Celia feel like she was about to be split open by this “lowlife” cock.

“I'm going to cum!”

“Yiii ❤! At least… at least cum outside… I really don't want to get pregnant ❤!” Her words said one thing — but her voice was soaked through with anticipation.

“You filthy sow, a female's purpose is to get pregnant and bear children — to be a breeding machine! Get pregnant for me!!”

The beggar clamped down on her hips and gave her nowhere to go, launching his final assault straight against her cervix.

“Splurt! Splurt! Splurt!”

“No ❤! Oh oh! Don't cum inside… don't cum inside oh oh oh oh ❤!! I'm going to get pregnant ❤!”

Thick, scalding cum poured directly into the unguarded depths of Celia's womb.

Celia lay flat on the ground, completely senseless, a dazed, vacant smile still hanging at the corner of her lips.

The beggar sat beside her, eyes sweeping over that spectacular body, a sharp glint flickering in his gaze. “A prime piece like this… I can't just let her walk away.”

Early morning. The Upper City.

Celia jolted awake in her bathtub.

“Hah… hah…”

She looked around. Her own lavish bathroom. Her body had already been cleaned, but the sensation of being filled still lingered, vivid and clear.

“Thinking back on what happened… it feels like a dream…”

She pressed a hand to her lower belly. The beggar's warmth seemed to still be there.

“Having that done to me by some filthy bum… but it really did feel so good~.”

“Calling someone Master and all that… so embarrassing… but…”

A wave of warmth surged through Celia's belly. She let out a soft, helpless moan in the water, a look of distant, savouring pleasure spreading across her face.

“Oh right! I almost forgot!”

She suddenly remembered that final “accident.”

“The morning-after pill! Otherwise, I really will get pregnant~.”

She scrambled out of the bathtub in a panic to find her backup pill bottle. As for her original plan to kill the “lowlife trash” after she was done with him — that had long since been tossed completely out of her mind.

The next day. The National Noble Magic Academy.

Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows and spilled across the bright, spacious lecture hall. At the front, a white-haired old professor was waving his wand with great passion, delivering a lecture on Advanced Elemental Reconstruction Theory.

“The flow of magical energy must be as smooth as silk — your focus must be sharp as the tip of a needle…”

The students below all bent diligently over their notes.

All except the top student, seated dead centre in the front row — Celia.

She rested her chin in one hand, looking for all the world like she was listening intently. But those pale blue eyes were fixed on nothing beyond the window, glazed over and drifting like water coming undone.

[Magical energy flowing smoothly? Hah… nothing flows quite like that.]

Her mind was filled entirely with images from that filthy alley the night before. The beggar's rough, coarse hands. That savage, dark-purple cock. The sharp, wet slapping of flesh driving into flesh.

[I want... to be treated that roughly again...]

A flush of heat surged through Celia's lower belly. A familiar wetness gathered between her thighs. The expensive silk underwear she had on was now clinging slickly to her folds, rubbing against that sensitive spot with every breath she took.

“I can't take it any more… I'm soaked…”

She stood up abruptly.

“Professor, I'm not feeling well — I need to use the restroom.”

Without waiting for a response, she walked out of the classroom red-faced and at a brisk pace.

The academy girls' restroom. The stall at the very back.

“Click.” The moment the lock turned, Celia impatiently lifted her robes and pushed her hand inside her underwear.

“Haah… already this wet~…”

The instant her fingers made contact with her entrance, a long, glistening thread stretched between them. That pussy, which the beggar had spent the night roughly breaking open, was still swollen and raw — hyper sensitively tender.

“Slick! Slick!”

Two slender fingers on her right hand pushed inside without hesitation, twisting and stirring frantically. Her left hand wasn't idle, either — pressing hard through the fabric of her clothes, kneading the two stiff, aching nipples beneath.

“Ahh~ ❤!”

Celia leaned against the stall divider, legs spread wide, a delirious, cock-drunk expression on her face.

“Right hand… faster! Like that beggar… shove into me hard~!”

Her mind started automatically replaying the scenes from the night before — being pinned underfoot, being flogged.

“Master… step on me… whip me… treat me like a piece of livestock ❤…”

That pleasure of degrading herself into the dirt — it excited her more than any high-tier spell ever could.

“Mmph yiii——!!”

With one violent, shuddering convulsion, Celia reached climax in the sacred restroom of her prestigious academy.

“Haah… haah ❤——!”

She slumped onto the toilet seat, staring at the slick fluid coating her fingers. The hollow feeling in her chest had only grown.

“It's no use… my fingers are too thin… they can't fill me up at all…”

“I want a real cock… a thick, hot cock with that raw musk to it… I'm already… hopelessly addicted to cock ❤.”

That evening. The Lower City. The Black Rose Tavern.

Night had fallen again. Celia had put on an outfit even bolder than the night before — a bandeau top that barely covered her nipples, and an ultra-short leather skirt with a slit that ran all the way up to her hip.

She pushed open the tavern door. This was the most lawless place in the Lower City — the kind of place where only mercenaries and thugs gathered.

Without a hint of concealment, she walked straight up to the bar and dropped herself onto a barstool.

“Give me the strongest thing you've got.”

She crossed her long, black-stockinged legs and let them sway deliberately, putting every curve of her full, round backside on open display.

The rowdy crowd around her went instantly quiet — then erupted into murmurs far more lewd than before.

“Hey, get a load of that girl… dressed like that, she's basically selling it, right?”

“That bearing… looks like a noble lady? What's she doing in a place like this?”

“Who cares who she is — look at those eyes. That's a cock-hungry slut if I've ever seen one.”

Celia heard every word of it. Rather than anger, all it did was make her clamp her thighs together with excitement — and she deliberately pushed her chest out, letting those two nipples press even more clearly against the fabric.

Before long, five heavily built men with hard, brutish faces had closed in around her.

“Hey there, sweetheart — drinking alone? Want some company?”

Celia turned and looked at them with half-lidded eyes, running her tongue slowly across her lips. “Sure… as long as you can… satisfy me ❤.”

Cut to the second floor of the tavern. A cheap rented room thick with the stench of sweat and the heavy musk of sex.

On the narrow wooden bed, a carnal feast was well underway.

“Mmph mmph mmph!!”

Celia had been arranged into a shameless spread-eagle.

Two burly men sandwiched her from front and back. The one in front had his enormous cock buried in her pussy and was thrusting savagely — each stroke hammering into her cervix.

The one behind wasn't idle either — an equally thick shaft had forced its way into her tight rear entrance.

“Ahh ahh ahh ❤… my ass… my ass is being split open… it's so deep in front too… two big cocks… they're going to skewer me straight through…”

Celia convulsed all over from the double assault, eyes rolling back in her head.

But it didn't stop there.

Three more men stood around the bed.

“Open your mouth! Don't just sit there!”

A big hand grabbed her jaw and pushed a musky, rank-smelling cock between her lips.

“Slurp… squelch…”

Celia swallowed it down greedily, like a seasoned whore.

The other two grabbed one of her hands each — making her stroke them, or simply pressing their cocks between her full breasts and rutting against them.

“Filthy slut! So tight! She's something else!” “Noble pussy really is different — she's absolutely soaked!”

The men's crude words and the wet slap of flesh tangled together into one.

“I'm gonna cum! I can't hold it!” the man fucking her pussy bellowed.

“Go ahead and cum… shoot it all inside me ❤!”

Celia pulled the cock from her mouth and cried out, a wild grin on her face.

“Cum right into this broodmare's womb ❤! Fill it up~ I've already taken my pill, no need to worry about pregnancy ❤~!”

“Splurt! Splurt! Splurt!”

It was a feast of release.

In her pussy. In her ass. In her mouth. Across her face. Across her chest.

That night, the empire's number-one genius witch was reduced entirely to a cum receptacle for lowlifes. She believed those little pills were her talisman — her protection. What she didn't know was that this reckless, relentless flooding was pushing her one step at a time toward a point of no return — toward carrying the seed of some nameless gutter-born stranger.

After that night of crossed lines, it was as if Celia had thrown open a door into an entirely new world.

Ordinary sex could no longer satisfy the black hole of desire swelling inside her. She began spending her daytime class hours sifting through black market intelligence, hunting down the most hidden, most depraved pleasure dens the Lower City had to offer. And every night, she shed her skin and became that shameless silver-haired succubus, throwing herself into one frenzied sexual experiment after another.

The Lower City. The abandoned Central Fountain Plaza.

This was where vagrants and addicts gathered — ordinarily a place only rats frequented. But tonight, it had become a stage for depravity.

Celia — her appearance altered in advance with a glamour spell — knelt naked on the rim of the fountain, her hands bound behind her back with magical rope she had tied herself.

“If we're doing this… then let everyone get a good look ❤.”

She snapped her fingers.

【Advanced Illumination】

A blazing orb of light hovered above her head, throwing every inch of her snow-white body into sharp, unforgiving relief. Every fine hair, every intimate fold — nothing was hidden.

And on top of that, she had cast 【Amplification】 on herself.

“Ahem! Listen up, all you filthy dogs! Your lady is feeling generous tonight! I am graciously permitting you to make use of my exquisite body! … Hey! Come on, hurry up and fuck this high-born sow ❤!”

Her voice, amplified by magic, rang out across the entire plaza.

Dozens of ragged vagrants came shuffling toward the sound, like starving wolves that had caught the scent of meat.

“Form a line! One at a time!”

Celia thrust her rear up and spread herself open with her own fingers — that needy, sopping pussy on full display for everyone to see.

“Whoever fucks me the deepest… gets a gold coin ❤!”

That night, the plaza rang with the relentless wet slap of flesh and Celia's raw, howling cries. In full view of everyone, she was pounded one after another by countless filthy cocks. Every passerby could see this untouchable, high-and-mighty young lady pinned to the ground like a bitch in heat — face plastered in cum, begging for mercy, begging for more.

“Ahh ahh ahh… so many people watching… so humiliating… so good ❤~!”

“All I need to do is stay still?”

Inside a high-end fetish club called “The Quiet Manor,” Celia signed a voluntary agreement.

That night, she was no longer a person. She was a piece of furniture.

She was stripped bare, fitted with a ball gag and a blindfold, made to kneel on all fours with a glass serving tray placed across her back. She had become a human female dining table.

Guests sat around her, enjoying their food and drink, while idly playing with her body at their leisure.

Someone poured red wine down her back and let it trickle along the cleft of her rear and into her hole. Someone pressed a lit cigarette to her nipples and watched her tremble from the pain, too afraid to move. Someone else simply lifted her rear, pushed their cock into that “waste disposal” back entrance, and fucked her while sipping their drink.

[Mmph mmph mmph… I am furniture… I am a receptacle… I am the most worthless object that exists...]

This way of playing — this self-hypnosis of being utterly objectified, stripped of all personhood — gave her a sense of peace and degradation unlike anything she'd felt before. She even found herself praying inwardly: how wonderful it would be if she could stay like this — just a piece of furniture — forever.

Several days later. Back to daily life.

For the sake of her new magic research project, Celia had moved into the top-floor private luxury dormitory the academy had prepared for her rather than returning home.

After those days of frenzied excess, Celia felt the novelty had faded somewhat. After all, even the finest cut of meat gets old if you eat it every single day.

With a sense of inner contentment, she slipped back into the mage's robes that represented honour and purity, and returned to that gleaming, glamorous world above.

The National Noble Magic Academy. The corridor.

“Good morning, Senior Celia!”

“Miss Celia is as perfect as ever today…”

Students passing by bowed to her one after another, their eyes full of admiration and longing.

Celia walked with her books held to her chest, nodding with a gracious smile, every gesture the picture of noble refinement.

But only she knew the truth.

Beneath those thick mage's robes, she had no underwear on.

That pussy — broken open by so many — was in a state of extreme, well-used looseness. With every step she took, traces of last night's cum that hadn't fully drained would occasionally slip down along her inner thigh.

And inside her bag, tucked beside her textbooks, was the used and long-since dried condom from the beggar that very first night — her most treasured “keepsake.”

[Heh heh… if you all knew that the goddess you're looking at… is actually a public cum-dump filled to the brim with the seed of nameless men~ what kind of faces would you make?]

That sense of secret transgression — knowing what no one else knew — made her grow wet again right there in class.

“I am a good student… I am a good girl… I am a genius…”

She repeated it to herself inwardly. But beneath that polished, brilliant exterior, the beast named “lust” purred quietly in the dark, waiting for its next, even more frenzied release.

Several days later. The Lower City. A dim back alley.

Celia stood before the beggar who had changed her fate once more.

“This is the last time… really… this is absolutely the last time…” she said — but those black-stockinged legs pressed together of their own accord, and her eyes drifted.

“Hey, sow.” The beggar leaned against the wall with the air of someone who could see straight through her.

“You filthy bum…”

“What was that? Shouldn't you be calling me Master?”

“Stop pulling me back into this… this is… the last time…” That last part came out barely above a whisper.

“Heh. Even if you want to quit now, it doesn't change the fact that you're a cock-starved sow at your core.” The beggar let out a cold laugh and reached into his coat, producing a metal collar that gave off a strange, dark light.

“You, this little sow — you have everything others spend their whole lives fighting for and could never reach. And yet, you come down here willingly to be a flesh-hole for people at the bottom of the gutter. You really are beyond saving.”

Celia bit her lip. She had no rebuttal.

“You're already the most debased little cum-dump there is — and it's still not enough for you. Why is that?” The beggar pressed closer with every word. “Because you still have a way out. You have powerful magic. These people are all weak — none of them would truly dare to cross you. Unless… you lost your magic. Became an ordinary person.”

“Lost my magic…?” Celia's pupils contracted slightly.

“That's right. A truly powerless female. You would lose every means of resistance — become a true Lower City nobody, a truly usable flesh-hole, a truly debased sow, the lowest-grade livestock there is. Everyone becomes your master. You get used like an object day and night, without end.”

The beggar held the collar out toward her.

“This is a 【Magic Sealing Collar】. Put it on, and you won't be able to use any magic whatsoever — you'll be completely helpless. You can rest easy, though — it runs on a magic stone. When the stone runs out, the collar stops working. How long that takes, though… heh heh, that I couldn't tell you.”

The beggar pressed the collar into her hand and turned, disappearing into the dark.

“I'll leave you to think it over.”

Celia's boudoir.

She sat on the edge of her bed, that cold metal ring clutched tight in her hands, staring at nothing.

“Put it on… and I'll become a helpless nobody…”

“I can't put it on… I'm a genius… I'm the family's hope…”

Her reason screamed warnings — but her body answered honestly, flushing hot. The fantasy of it — utterly stripped of power, completely at the mercy of others — seeped into her nerves like poison.

“Hah… hah…”

Celia's face was burning red, her breath coming in ragged gulps.

After some time — she couldn't say how long — something in her snapped. With trembling hands, she reached up and fastened the collar around her own slender white throat.

“Click!”

A clean, sharp sound of a lock engaging.

In an instant, the vast surging tide of magical power inside her was severed as if cut by a blade, vanishing without a trace.

“It's gone… all my magic is gone ❤~!”

“It's like I never had any magic at all… I really have become a powerless, useless nobody…”

That profound emptiness didn't bring panic. It brought a rush of pleasure that shot straight to her head.

“Oh ❤ oh oh——!!!”

Celia crumpled to the floor, convulsing, a gush of slick fluid instantly soaking into the carpet beneath her.

“From an untouchable, high-and-mighty genius mage… to a nobody who can't cast a single spell… I'm worthless… I'm a sow ❤!”

Only after the climax passed did the fear finally catch up.

She tried to pull the collar off with her hands. It wouldn't budge.

She tried to pry it open with a tool. Useless — it was forged from magical metal.

“What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? I really have no magic at all~~…” Even in her murmuring to herself, her voice had taken on a faint tremor.

“Impossible… I'm a genius witch… oh oh oh oh oh ❤! I'm cumming again ❤~!”

Despair and pleasure, intertwined.

“I can't let Mother and Father find out… they'll discover I'm a hopeless sow ❤!” The hand that had been touching the collar fell away, sliding down to her groin instead.

“What about school… they'll find out… that I can't cast anything any more… my classmates will look down on me… the teachers will go cold on me too… everything is ruined ❤~!!” Her drenched, needy pussy made slick, squelching sounds as her fingers worked it.

“My life… it was supposed to be perfect… oh oh oh oh! Yiii yiii yiii yiii!! Cumming again ❤~!!”

In the depths of this psychological collapse, Celia climaxed again and again, one after another. And when it was over, she made an even more reckless decision.

If it's already ruined, then let it be ruined completely.

Pleasure Street. The familiar alleyway entrance.

Celia appeared there in that signature scandalous outfit of hers, the black collar around her throat, her eyes simultaneously vacant and burning.

“So you actually put it on.” The beggar stepped out of the shadows, a knowing smile on his face. “How does it feel?”

“It's all your fault… you've ruined my life ❤~!” Celia slumped against the wall, her voice trembling.

“You put it on yourself. I didn't make you do anything.” The beggar let out a low whistle. “But since you're helpless now — time to start enjoying your life as a Lower City flesh-hole.”

At the sound of his whistle, dozens of men stepped out from the surrounding shadows. Some were the drinkers from before, some were vagrants, a few were just thugs who happened to be passing through. They all knew — this once-untouchable noble lady was now a piece of meat with no way to fight back.

“Kneel,” the beggar ordered. “A sow should know her place. You really think you're still some high-and-mighty lady now?”

Those knees — once so proud — bent without resistance, hitting the filthy ground hard.

“Masters… please punish your sow…”

The next two weeks were the darkest — and the happiest — of Celia's life.

She stopped going home. She stopped going to the academy. She simply lived in a ramshackle hovel in the Lower City, the communal property of these gutter-dwelling men.

“Oh oh oh~ oh ❤ oh, so good — Masters, please step on me harder!”

“It's inside me… my little pussy is full… hnngh hnngh hnngh, ahhhh~ ❤!”

“Getting pregnant doesn't even matter any more… it feels so good ❤!”

Her daily existence had been reduced to this: spread her legs, and be pounded one after another by every cock that came her way. Her body was covered in humiliating words written in ink — “flesh-hole,” “sow,” “bitch,” “cum bucket.” Something was always in her mouth. Her pussy was always wet. Her belly was always flooded with the seed of different men.

She had forgotten magic entirely. She had forgotten honour entirely. The only thing she remembered was that she was a hole — a hole made for others to use.

Half a month later.

Clack.

Celia, being taken from behind by the beggar, suddenly felt something loosen around her neck.

The black magic-suppression collar lost its lustre, snapping in two and falling to the ground.

A familiar, overwhelming power surged back into her body in an instant. The terrifying magical force that belonged to the Arch mage.

Celia froze. She was still on all fours, ass in the air, not yet recovered from her orgasm.

“Looks like the magic stone ran out,” the beggar said, stopping his movements. He showed no fear — only calm. He helped her up gently. “You can go back now.”

“Go back…?” Celia blinked, dazed.

“Master… I'm the lowest little fucktoy…” she murmured instinctively, still wanting more.

“You're not the lowest fucktoy,” the beggar said, shaking his head. “You're the number-one prodigy mage — a beautiful young genius. Your family is wealthy. You live the life most people only dream of. You don't belong here.”

Those words struck her like a bolt of lightning.

Memory flooded back. Reason reassembled itself.

“I… I'm Celia… the genius witch…”

She stood. The filth and cum covering her dissolved in an instant under a surge of mana, restoring that flawless, untouchable goddess exterior.

But her eyes had changed. Deep within those ice-blue irises, something remained — a smear of lewd crimson that could not be erased.

“But I'm also the lowest little fucktoy ❤~!”

She looked down at the shattered collar on the floor, licked her lips, and let a smile spread across her face — beautiful and dangerous.

“Do you have any more magic-suppression collars, Mr. Beggar?”

“I might want… to feel like a fucktoy again sometime ❤.”

She waved her hand, casting 【Temporal Reversion】 to restore her body to its original state — everything except her heart, which had already been thoroughly, irreversibly loosened.

“Until next time, Masters.”

The number-one genius witch, carrying her secrets and her hunger for the next fall from grace, vanished into the light of the teleportation circle.

Ordinary days passed. Celia used the excuse of a closed-door research retreat to paper over the missing half-month, and given that her reputation as a top student was solid enough — and she actually had results to show for it — the little episode barely raised an eyebrow.

But ordinary was a generous word for how she lived now.

Since returning, Celia had thrown out every piece of underwear she owned. She went to class bare underneath her robes every day — a vibrating egg buried in her pussy, a half-meter bead string stuffed in her ass, each bead eight centimetres in diameter, and two more vibrating clamps pinching her nipples. That she was a genius mage was the only thing keeping her safe; the concealment spell she maintained was too refined for even the headmaster to detect, and so she glided through each school day without incident.

11:00 PM. Girls' dormitory. The Head Student's private suite.

Outside, the campus lay in dead silence. Only the occasional heavy footfall of a patrolling golem broke the stillness.

Inside Celia's room, a very different kind of ritual was beginning.

“There… everyone's finally here.”

Celia stood naked at the edge of her bed, eyes burning with feverish intensity as they swept across the array of implements laid out on the sheets — a collection that would have made a hardened interrogator uneasy.

She had grown thoroughly accustomed to the feeling of being filled at all times. At school, she was the elegant Head Student, but beneath her robes: nothing. Vibrating egg in her cunt. Half-meter beads in her ass. Clamps buzzing on her nipples. The perverse thrill of coming silently under the headmaster's very nose was more addictive than any drug.

But tonight, she wanted something bigger.

“Black-market reject magic-suppression collars… a full night of being a useless, broken thing~~!”

She picked up the crude, rough-cast black collars, fingertips tracing the cold metal surface.

“And these… my darling little toys.”

Celia lifted a slender urethral bead rod. It was no thicker than a pinky finger, but exquisitely made — each bead polished to a perfect smoothness, each one fitted with tiny barbed ridges. Once inserted, it would stimulate the sensitive walls of the urethra, and every movement would drag those ridges back and forth in a slow, relentless friction.

Beside it lay a grotesque electroshock dildo. Thirty-five centimetres long, six in diameter, its surface divided into independent sections of spiral ridging. The worst part was its design philosophy — it had been built to breach the cervix. Fully seated, that massive head would force the cervical opening wide and discharge directly inside the uterus, with only a five-centimetre base protruding outside as a handle. A failsafe, of sorts.

“And this big bastard…”

Celia heaved up the coiled anal bead string from the bed with visible effort. A full meter long — black, massive, like a great serpent. The first bead was one centimetre across. They grew from there, each one larger than the last, until the final bead: a sphere fifteen centimetres in diameter, roughly the size of a small melon. Every bead trembled with a faint vibration, as though impatient to be swallowed by her body.

“Deep-throat gag… nose hooks… noise-cancelling earplugs…”

Every implement designed, in its own way, to strip away whatever remained of her dignity as a human being.

“Then… let the ritual begin.”

Celia drew a slow breath, raised one hand, and let a pale light bloom at her fingertips.

【Total Depilation · Maximum Effect】

Without hesitation, she turned on herself a spell originally developed for stripping hide from magical beasts.

Shhhh…

That silver hair — the mark of her noble bloodline, beautiful as moonlight — detached all at once and drifted to the floor. Her delicate brows followed. Her long lashes. Every fine hair on her body, and the neat patch of hair between her thighs.

In the mirror, the beautiful magical girl was gone.

In her place: a bald, blindingly pale, hairless thing.

“Ha… hideous…”

Celia ran a hand over her bare scalp, staring at the creature in the mirror — no eyebrows, eyes wild and unfocused, a freak.

“What a filthy, hairless little pig-slut ❤~!”

The shame of having destroyed her own beauty made her cunt gush instantly.

“Right! Get dressed!”

She took the urethral bead rod first, spread her legs, aligned it with that tiny opening, and began feeding it in, bead by bead.

“Sss—! It burns… so full!”

The sharp, alien pressure pushed up through the urethra all the way to the bladder, triggering an immediate desperate urge to piss — one she couldn't relieve.

Then the electroshock dildo.

Schluck.

The thick, spiralled shaft forced her already-slack pussy open and drove in without mercy, bottoming out hard.

“Ngh——!!”

The wrenching sensation of her cervix being forced open rolled her eyes back in her head. Only the five-centimetre base remained outside, wedged against her entrance.

Then the meter-long anal bead string.

“This… this one's going to be hard…”

Celia raised her ass, slathered everything in lubricant, and began what would be a long, slow swallowing.

First bead… tenth bead… fifteenth…

As they grew larger, her sphincter was stretched to its absolute limit. When the fifteen-centimetre final sphere was forced through, she felt herself split in two.

“Ah, ah, ah… my ass… my ass is tearing apart… full… so full…”

By the time the pull-ring was seated at the outside, her belly had distended slightly — the outlines of several large spheres pressing visibly against her once-flat abdomen.

Now: the head.

She fitted the noise-cancelling earplugs deep into her ears.

The world went silent. An explosion spell fired directly beside her ear would reach her as barely a mosquito's whine. The sensory deprivation sent a spike of irrational panic through her — which made her more aroused.

Then the nose hooks.

Two metal hooks, pushed deep into her nostrils, yanked upward, looped over her bare scalp — later to be tied to the collar at the back of her neck — forcing her nose into a permanent upturned snout.

It made her look even more like a sow.

The last item was that special deep-throat gag. The thirty-centimetre soft-rubber dildo had been forced all the way down her throat, shoved deep into her esophagus. Only the ordinary-looking gag shell remained visible outside.

“Uughh… mmph…”

Her throat was packed full. She couldn't even swallow her own saliva any more — all she could do was let it drip from the corners of her mouth.

This was Celia now. Naked. Hairless. Every inch of her.

Deaf. Mute. Nose wrenched into the snout of a sow. All three holes below her waist stuffed with massive objects — her belly visibly distended, stretched from within.

She looked like a living fucktoy, lovingly prepared and waiting to be put on display.

She stared at herself in the mirror — that horrifying, obscene reflection — and even though she couldn't hear a sound, she could feel her heart hammering like a war drum against her ribs.

[Not done yet… there's still that black skin to put on…]

She reached for the jar of pitch-black magic latex, eyes full of anticipation.

Celia stood naked and hairless in the centre of the room. Her body was packed with unspeakable implements. The noise-dampening earplugs had stripped her world of sound. The nose hook had warped her face into something grotesque.

But the real transformation — that had only just begun.

She trembled as she lifted the jar of pitch-black magic latex.

[Come on then… turn me into a proper monster…]

She closed her eyes. Raised the jar of thick, viscous black fluid above her head. Tipped it slowly.

Shhhhh—

Ice-cold and syrupy, it poured down over her bare scalp, flowed across her wrenched and distorted nose, over her gag-stuffed mouth, down over those breasts bound purple-blue by the cord, all the way to the soles of her feet.

This was no ordinary liquid. It moved like a living slime, spreading across Celia's skin and hardening in seconds.

In moments, her snow-white flesh had vanished completely.

In its place: a humanoid shape. Jet-black, polished to a mirror sheen. The magic latex was impossibly thin — barely a millimetre — yet it conformed to every contour of her body with perfect fidelity. Her stiffened nipples. The obscene bulge across her belly where the anal beads and dildo pushed outward. Even the ridges of her ribs — all of it rendered in crisp, glossy relief.

Two pinhole-sized apertures at the eyes. Teardrop-shaped slits at the mouth and nose to keep her breathing. Otherwise, she was sealed completely inside a black cocoon.

[So tight… it feels like I've been swallowed by some kind of creature~~]

The latex breathed well enough, but the visual enclosure made her heart race.

Next: the hooves.

With telekinesis, she guided them to her — that peculiarly shaped pair of hoof-heeled latex boots. No traditional heel at all. Only a thick, heavy iron horseshoe fitted beneath the ball of each foot.

[Once these go on… I'll have no choice but to walk like a mare…]

She rose onto her toes and slid her feet in.

Click.

The metal anklet snapped shut. A small, neat padlock engaged. The key sailed away on a thought.

From this moment forward, the boots were locked onto her permanently.

She tried two steps. Clop… clop…

Iron on flooring — a crisp, bright horseshoe ring. No heel to fall back on: her calves stayed perpetually tensed, her ass forced upward and back, her whole posture unbearably obscene.

[I… I'm a mare… a filthy, slutty little mare~~]

The shameful self-suggestion made her drip even more.

Then: the piercing bells.

Three iron rings, each hung with a small silver bell, floated into position before her. Guided by telekinesis, two of them aligned with her nipples — rock-hard beneath the latex, aching.

Pshk!

The magic latex parted itself obediently. Each ring punched clean through the tender flesh.

“Mmmph——!!”

A full-body shudder of white-hot pain. Then the latex flowed back, sealing the wounds shut without a single drop of blood.

The third ring found the swollen nub between her thighs — her clit, engorged and throbbing where the dildo's base pressed and ground against it.

Thk!

“Ngyaaah—❤❤❤!!”

Celia's knees buckled. She nearly went down entirely.

Every movement she made now — every tiny shift — would set those three bells chiming, tugging at the three most sensitive points on her body in a relentless cycle of sting and pleasure.

[Not done… need to be more like an animal. More❤~]

A pair of black latex horse ears were pressed to the crown of her head, merging seamlessly with the bodysuit.

Then she put on the custom blackout lenses.

The world blurred to nothing. The room she'd seen clearly moments ago dissolved into shapeless smears of colour. If someone pressed their face to hers, she wouldn't be able to tell who it was.

Her visible range: three meters, at most. The fear inside her doubled instantly.

[Now… the last step. The most insane one…]

Celia looked — in her fashion — toward the two utterly ordinary-seeming black rubber bands lying on the bed.

Those were 【Spatial Storage Rings】. She'd brought them out of the lab herself. Half-finished prototypes. Her supervisor's stated reason was that they needed to be kept on hand at all times for ongoing study and optimization of the rings' internal storage environment — but in practice…

[My hands… mmmph… livestock don't need hands❤…]

Using telekinesis, she manipulated the two rubber bands, stretching them wider and wider until each formed a loop slightly thicker than an arm, hovering in midair.

Celia took a slow, deep breath. She eased both hands into the rings.

Something extraordinary happened.

The moment her fingertips made contact with the interior of each ring, they didn't pass through — they vanished.

Like breaking the surface of still water. Like being swallowed by a void.

Fingers… palms… wrists… forearms… elbows… upper arms.

She watched her arms disappear into nothing, inch by inch, and the visual impact was more terrifying than any spell she had ever cast.

At last, the two rings settled at her shoulders.

In that instant, both arms were simply gone.

When the bands slid away, the spatial magic left clean cross-sections behind — but the omnipresent black latex flowed in immediately, spreading, sealing, swallowing the gap whole.

From the outside, she looked like something born wrong. Like a creature that had never had arms at all. At each shoulder: only a smooth, round, glossy black stump.

[Gone… my hands are actually gone! Yes~!]

She tried to move her arms. Nothing below the shoulders responded. The utter helplessness of having no limbs made her shake all over — and nearly faint from arousal.

[Like this… even if I wanted to resist, I couldn't~ I'm completely at someone else's mercy❤!]

Using telekinesis, she gathered the two spatial rings and the horseshoe-boot key together and dropped them into a small spherical alloy case the size of an apple. She locked it shut.

The case had a hook at the top.

Click.

She fastened it to the pull-ring of the anal bead chain — the one trailing out from her ass.

With every step she took, the heavy little case would swing like a pendulum, tugging on the meter-long bead string inside her, reminding her at every moment exactly where the keys were.

But the key to the case itself?

[Go on then… go to that place soaked in cum and piss~]

She cast her final remote-teleportation spell.

【Nondirectional Teleport · Target: Men's Lavatory, Old Magic Studies Building, Academy Grounds】

A brief flicker of light. The key disappeared.

A nondirectional teleport only fixed a general location — somewhere in that building's men's lavatories. The key might be in a cistern. It might be at the bottom of a toilet bowl. It might be gathering dust in some forgotten corner. And the building had four floors, with men's lavatories on every level.

And the Celia who would be searching for it was a creature without hands, half-blind, deaf, unable to speak, and — very shortly — stripped of every trace of magic.

This wasn't a treasure hunt. This was a death sentence.

[Last step… let's finish becoming completely useless❤!!]

She guided four “[”-shaped black iron handles into position with her mind — one at each shoulder stump, two at her lower back — and fixed them in place.

[These are for future masters~ something to grab onto while they use me❤~~ Hah… what a considerate little livestock I am…]

Finally, the worn, battered magic-suppression collar rose into the air.

It settled gently around Celia's slender throat. The strap connected to the nose hook — running behind her head — was drawn tight and fixed to the collar, forcing her chin slightly upward, her face tilted at an angle that looked like she was waiting to be kissed.

[Well then… goodbye for now… Celia the genius sorceress❤~]

She spent the very last of her telekinesis pressing the collar's clasp shut.

Click.

In that instant, the vast ocean of magical power that had always filled her mind — sealed off at the source, like a floodgate slamming down. Gone. Dry in a heartbeat.

Telekinesis: gone.

That immense strength that had always underpinned her sense of self, her confidence — gone. The steady, composed mind she'd always relied on — collapsed.

What remained was only this: a black-latex-encased creature. No arms. Half-blind. Deaf. Mouth packed full. Every hole below the waist stuffed. Each step announced with a ring of iron.

A desperate, broken mare.

“Mmph…?”

She tried to make a sound. Only a smothered whimper came out.

She tried to take a step.

Clop!

The horseshoe's ring cut through the silent room.

The bells at her nipples and clit answered — ding-ling-ling — tugging, biting, sending cascading waves of excruciating pleasure radiating outward. The box at her rear swung on its hook, dragging the bead string through her insides.

She had to find the key before dawn. Otherwise, when the first light of morning touched the campus — when students began making their way to class —

The armless mare's parade would have an audience.

A school-wide reckoning from which she would never recover.

Glp~. Celia swallowed down the saliva pooling in her throat, and stumbled headlong out through her door into the dark corridor beyond.

Night air moved through the hallway windows, carrying the bite of deep autumn.

But that chill could do nothing for the blood boiling inside her right now. The 0.1-centimeter latex skin acted like a second body — locking in her heat perfectly, warming further with her own fever until it was almost hot to the touch.

Thoom—. Thoom—.

Thoom—. Thoom—.

Her heartbeat was deafening.

Even through the noise-cancelling earplugs that had stripped away nearly all external sound, she could still hear it — conducted through bone directly to her eardrums, each beat like someone pounding a drum inside her skull.

[So loud… my heartbeat is so loud… is this fear? Or excitement❤?!]

She stood at the far end of the seventh-floor corridor, nothing ahead of her but blurred darkness and shapeless shadow.

As the academy's head student, she occupied the luxury suite at the very deepest end of this floor — alone. Which meant she had to cross a full fifty meters of corridor before she could reach the stairwell. Alone.

Clop!

First step.

Even through the earplugs, the vibration of iron on marble travelled up through the soles of her feet and radiated through her entire body.

It was past midnight. The corridor was empty.

But in Celia's desire-warped senses, it felt packed with onlookers.

Every one of those closed dormitory doors — in her blurred vision, each seemed to have cracked open just a sliver.

Countless eyes pressed to the gaps. Watching the armless mare's procession. Hungry.

[Look at her… look at that freak… is that Celia? Senior Celia?]

[What happened to her? Are those… hooves? Where are her hands?]

[What a filthy little pig-slut, doing this to herself…]

The imagined whispers burrowed into her like venom.

Gush—

Without warning, a rush of heat flooded out of the cunt stuffed full around the spiral dildo, running down the inside of her thighs, dripping onto the latex bodysuit.

“Mmph-nyaaah❤!!”

Her knees buckled. The intensity of the shame detonated through her like a charge — and she came. Just from the fantasy.

[Just from imagining it… I orgasmed?! I'm really… beyond saving, aren't I❤~…]

She bit down on the deep-throat gag, forced herself through the rolling aftershocks, and dragged herself forward — metal box swinging behind her ass, step by grinding step.

Every step: bells singing. Every step: the box swinging, hauling on the bead string deep in her gut.

At last, the blurred dark mass of the stairwell entrance resolved itself ahead.

[There… the real challenge.]

Celia stopped. Breathed.

Seven floors. Over a hundred steps.

For a creature with no arms to grip the railing, vision reduced to smears, and no heel to plant — this was effectively suicidal.

Any reasonable person would have hugged the wall. Gotten down and crawled.

Celia did neither.

She positioned herself dead centre in the stairwell. Squared her shoulders. And because of the lock-box pulling from behind and the nose hook pulling from above, she stood straighter than any ordinary person could manage — rigid and inhuman in her posture.

[If I've become a mare… then I should carry myself like one.]

[Not crawling like some worm… marching down like the finest, most noble thoroughbred…]

It was a grotesquely warped kind of pride. It was also a deeper humiliation she was inflicting on herself.

She breathed in. Lifted her haunches. Pulled her belly taut.

Then she raised her right foot — the one shod in its horseshoe boot — high. Thigh muscles straining, lifting until the knee drew level with her abdomen, thigh and shin folding into a perfect ninety-degree angle. The iron hoof hung suspended in the faint moonlight, glinting cold.

Stamp~!

Her right foot came down sure and clean on the edge of the next step below.

Iron met stone. A sharp, bright crack.

Then the left.

Lift. Fold. Down.

Stamp~!

This was the 【High-Stepping Mare's March】.

This posture demanded extraordinary core strength and near-impossible balance. An ordinary person — even without the shoes — would have tumbled down the stairs long before reaching the bottom.

But Celia was not ordinary. Her body had been steeped in magical energy for years, and her core musculature was staggeringly powerful. The physical mastery etched into her very bones allowed her to maintain — even now, even like this — a strange, unsettling grace.

Stamp. Stamp. Stamp…

The rhythm echoed through the empty stairwell, steady and monotonous.

With every step down, her calves trembled. The bead string shifted inside her. But her gait grew steadier. More assured. More practiced.

As though she had been born to walk this way.

As though she had been made to be ridden. Displayed. Used.

[Seventh floor… sixth… five more to go…]

Sweat ran freely beneath the latex, coating her in a slick, clinging layer. The suffocating pressure of being sealed inside her own skin, combined with the ever-present terror of a fall that could kill her — it acted like a shot of adrenaline directly to the heart, keeping her in a state of feverish, pathological alertness.

She was a black ghost dancing at the edge of a precipice, descending step by step toward a stage that was wider, and far more dangerous, than any she had ever stood on.

The first-floor lobby. The air felt solid.

[Hah… hah… I made it…]

Celia halted on the final step. The surface of her latex suit had misted over with fine beads of sweat, catching the pale moonlight in a slick, oily sheen. The latex breathed well enough to let moisture through — but the heat that came with that kind of exertion still made her feel like she was burning alive from the inside.

Ahead: the exit. Victory. The dormitory's front door.

But this was also the most dangerous ground. Just beside that door, behind a half-drawn window: the dormitory matron's night-duty room.

[Shh… don't wake the old witch…]

She had reconnoitred this route multiple times. She knew the matron slept like a corpse. But she still couldn't afford carelessness. Carefully, she folded away the imperious high-stepping march, replacing it with something slower, more delicate — a mincing, tip-hoofed creep toward the entrance.

Tik… tap…

No matter how carefully she placed each step, the iron horseshoes against marble were audible. Every footfall made her hold her breath, braced for the matron's bellow to come crashing down on her.

But nothing stirred.

She reached the door.

It was a heavy solid-wood door, fitted with one of those old-fashioned spherical rotating knobs.

[No hands… so how exactly do I open this?]

A real problem. Use her mouth? Impossible — the deep-throat gag left her nothing to grip with. Her shoulder? She had no stump to speak of. The latex was too smooth against the brass anyway — no friction, no purchase.

[There's only one way.]

She turned sideways against the door. Her left foot — horseshoe planted — stayed grounded, bearing her full weight.

Then she slowly raised her right leg.

It was an obscene manoeuvre, and a technically brutal one. She lifted her right leg high, bent the knee, and used the soft hollow of her popliteal fossa — the back of her knee — to hook precisely around the spherical door-knob.

[Grip it… squeeze…]

Thigh and calf clenched together in a single hard contraction. The elastic black latex crushed against the smooth brass knob and held, friction just barely sufficient.

[Turn.]

She drove from the hip, pressing her whole right leg slowly downward.

Creeeeak—

The sound of old metal grinding against old metal rang out through the silent lobby.

Celia's heart nearly stopped. She froze in place — one-legged, rigid, balanced on a horseshoe — and fixed her gaze on the duty room, straining her deadened ears for any response.

Nothing. The faint, rhythmic rasp of snoring continued undisturbed.

[Phew… that was close~~]

The latch gave.

She lowered her right leg, hoof finding the floor again. She turned, pressed her armless shoulder into the gap, and began working herself through it — like a cat trying to squeeze into a burrow — pushing herself outside inch by inch.

She kept her body braced against the door the entire time, preventing it from swinging back and slamming. When she was fully through, standing on the front steps, she held the door until it eased shut behind her.

Click.

Locked.

No way back.

She was outside now. Locked out of the dormitory. A proper feral mare, cut loose in the night.

[Mmph… finally out…]

Before she could even catch her breath, something shifted between her thighs.

Bzzzz—

The signal of 【Outdoor Mode】 activating.

The magical subroutine she had programmed in advance had detected the environmental change. It was running.

The spiral dildo nestled deep in her womb — which had been still until now — began to vibrate, gently at first. The thin urethral bead string started sending tiny, tickling pulses of current. And the meter-long anal bead chain began to undulate inside her, moving like a living thing.

[It's starting… random punishment mode❤~…]

Celia bit down on the gag. Her eyes went slightly wild.

The most terrifying thing about this mode was the random.

One moment it might be the mild massage she was feeling right now — and the next —

BZZZZZZZT——!!

Without any warning, the dildo buried in her womb erupted at maximum power.

“Nyaaah-nyaaah❤——!!”

Both legs gave way at once. She nearly pitched off the steps entirely. She wrenched her thigh muscles back into rigidity through sheer force of will, the horseshoes scraping white gouges into the stone.

[Nnngh… too strong… my legs are jelly…]

And this was only the beginning.

She had to cross most of the academy's campus in this state. All the way to the farthest building. Find the key.

If she buckled mid-orgasm and went down — if a surge of current hit her at the wrong moment and sent her writhing across the flagstones —

Once dawn broke and the early risers came out, they would find this: their head student, their goddess of academic achievement, naked, shaved bare, limbless, lying on the path, slicked with her own fluids, twitching like a bitch in heat.

Total. Social. Annihilation.

[Can't fall. Absolutely cannot fall.]

[But… I want to be seen❤… I want to collapse right there on the path~~ and be found in the morning❤. Hehh❤~]

Torn between those two irreconcilable hungers, Celia set her trembling hooves into motion and walked out into the night campus.

The magic academy by night resembled a sleeping leviathan.

Celia moved along the main path toward the teaching buildings. On either side, the magic lampposts cast their pale blue glow, throwing her sleek black silhouette out long and strange across the cobblestones.

Tik… tap…

The horseshoe-clop drifted through the empty campus.

[How much farther…]

Through the blurring lenses, she could just barely make out the outline of the distant building. It might as well have been a black mountain on the horizon.

Then a heavy, mechanical sound broke the stillness.

Clank… clank…

Around the corner ahead, a massive shadow appeared. A 【Campus Patrol Golem】 — three meters tall, forged by alchemy. These constructs had no true intelligence, but they were fitted with keen magical-energy detection eyes and infrared vision, designed specifically to apprehend students found climbing walls or meeting in forbidden corners after curfew.

[Oh no. A golem.]

Celia's heart lurched. She was wandering stark naked. If that iron hulk caught her, the alarm would wake the entire school.

[Hide! Now!]

She moved to lunge into the nearest flowerbed.

And that was precisely when the toys inside her chose their moment.

BZZZZZZZT——!!

The full meter of anal bead chain discharged at maximum power simultaneously.

“Nnghyaaah❤❤❤——!!!”

The current blazed up through her rectum and into her spine, instantly paralysing everything below the waist. Celia's legs locked solid — as though a petrification hex had seized her — and she stood stranded, immobile, dead centre of the path.

[Move… I can't move… damn it… not now, not NOW—]

The patrol golem turned its head. Those twin mechanical eyes, burning red, locked onto the strange black shape in the middle of the road.

“Unidentified biological signature detected.”

The flat mechanical voice rang out. The golem began to advance, heavy footsteps tolling against the stone.

Celia bit down on the gag, every inch of her breaking into a cold sweat. She couldn't move. All she could do was watch the enormous iron thing approach.

[Don't come closer. Don't trigger the alarm. I'm a student. I'm… I'm…] The prayer died the instant she glanced down at herself. Right.

The golem stopped before her. It lowered its great head. The red scanning beam swept over her body — from the horse ears at the crown of her head, down over the wrenched and hooked nose, across the bell-hung nipples, finally settling on the distended belly and the toy-stuffed junction of her thighs.

“Scanning…”

Those few seconds felt like a century to Celia. The current was still rampaging through her insides; the spiral dildo was churning mercilessly against her womb walls. She had to clench every single muscle with everything she had just to stay upright — just to keep from collapsing into a puddle, just to keep the bitch-in-heat wailing locked behind the gag.

“Mmph… nnh…”

Sweat slid down her cheeks and mixed with the saliva leaking from the corners of her mouth, dripping onto the cobblestones.

“Scan complete.”

The golem's red eyes flickered.

“Classification result: Unknown alchemical organism / Pet. No magical signature detected. Not a disciplinary-violation student.”

“Threat level: Zero. Cleared to pass.”

The suppression collar had stripped every trace of her magic. Combined with the thoroughly inhuman costume — the golem's rigid logic had categorized her as some kind of escaped alchemical specimen. Or a pet.

Clank… clank…

It turned and resumed its patrol route, leaving the “pet” still frozen in place behind it.

[Hah—hahh— I… I actually survived that?!]

The moment that verdict registered, something in Celia's eyes — hidden behind the blurring lenses — cracked open into feverish, unhinged delight.

The electric surge had been doing its work on her bladder for a while now. She'd been squeezing her thighs together, clenching against it, clinging to the last scrap of dignity she had.

But pet. That word was a pair of scissors, and they had just snipped the last thread holding her shame in place.

[If I'm livestock❤… does livestock need to find a toilet to take a piss?]

The golem hadn't finished turning away.

And Celia did something extraordinary.

She didn't hide. Didn't flinch. Instead, she turned to face the red scanning beam head-on, and slowly — obscenely slowly — spread her legs. The horseshoe boots planted themselves wide in a broad, splayed stance.

She thrust her distended belly forward, deliberately angling the urethral plug — already trembling with the effort of holding back — into full, unobstructed view of the golem.

[Watch closely, you iron lump… this is my greeting gift❤~~]

She released her sphincter. Then actively bore down.

Hissssss—!

A fierce, pale-yellow stream shot out through the gap alongside the urethral bead string — unimpeded, powerful, arcing freely through the air.

Shhhhhh…

It hit the golem's metal foot with a sharp spatter, sending tiny droplets bouncing back onto Celia's own thighs. Warm. Sharp. Reeking.

The golem did not appear to process the significance of the act. Its logic library contained no entry for shame. It simply repeated, flatly: “Threat level zero. Cleared to pass.”

Then it turned, and walked away.

But Celia had no intention of stopping. She'd started — there was no reason to apply the brakes now.

[Not done yet… there's so much more…]

She watched the golem's retreating bulk. And then she did something even more unhinged.

She began to march.

Kick! Right leg — high, sharp, precise.

Hissss—!

The muscle contraction squeezed her harder — the stream didn't stop, it intensified, shooting farther, tracing a glittering golden arc through the night air.

Stamp! Hoof down.

Left leg up.

Hissss—!

And so, on the main path leading to the teaching buildings — a path that would be walked by hundreds of students in a matter of hours — a spectacle unfolded that deserved its own page in the academy's history.

A jet-black, armless aberration, executing a picture-perfect high-stepping march. Every leg raised: another jet of piss. Every foot planted: another dark stain spreading across the stone.

She was a leaking, parading sprinkler system conducting its own private ceremony.

[Hehh… is this what they call marking territory? Or leaving a scent to attract a stallion?] The depraved fantasies bloomed and bloomed.

[I'm a walking toilet… I'm an ambulatory waste disposal unit…]

Celia marched with her chin raised and her posture impeccable, pissing with magnificent shamelessness. The stream caught her calves, her horseshoe boots, spattering up from the ground — her entire lower half a warm, reeking mess.

She didn't care. If anything, the smell of it — mingling with the latex, with the sweat trapped against her skin — struck her as the finest possible aphrodisiac.

Only when the very last drop had been wrung out did she give herself a satisfied little shake, and walked onward — hoof prints wet in her own puddles, stride still imperious, still absurdly proud — toward the dark teaching building ahead.

Clop. Clop. Clop…

With every step, Celia's gait grew more confident. More brazen, even.

That incontinence had broken something — some seal. She had completely abandoned finding the key as a concept. This midnight excursion had become a personal showcase.

[First stop… Alchemy Department building!]

She halted before an old stone tower. She had always hated this place. The alchemy professors had a particular gift for draining all the wonder out of magic with their dead-eyed formulae.

[Hmph. Rigid old fossils. Let's see what I can do to your sacred halls❤]

She walked to the centre of the doorway and turned her back to it — to the great copper door inlaid with its elaborate alchemical arrays.

Slowly, she spread her legs. The wide, practiced stance she had perfected tonight. Knees bent, hips sinking, the bead-ring trailing from her ass — with its dangling metal box — aimed directly at the door.

[Ready… aim…]

She began rolling her hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The spiral dildo, dragged by the motion, scraped and ground against her inner walls.

Bzzz— BZZZZZT!!

As though sensing its owner's anticipation, the toy's random mode landed on maximum.

“Nnnghyaaah——❤❤❤!!!”

Celia's head fell back. A scream punched up through the gag and came out smothered.

Gush—SPLASH!!

A massive surge of thick, transparent slick — mixed with the last remnants she hadn't managed to expel earlier — erupted from her cunt like a pressure hose.

It hit the copper door with a loud, spattering crack, ran down into the seams, pooled along the joins, defiling every last engraved alchemical sigil on that sacred surface.

[Hahh… got it all… this place is mine now!]

Celia stood there with trembling thighs and savoured the exquisite pleasure of desecration.

But this was only the first stop.

Second stop: Elemental Studies Building.

Third stop: the Astrology Tower.

At every location, she repeated the ritual. Legs spread. Hips dropped. Pelvis rolling. Then one thorough, shuddering climax aimed squarely at the door or the statue — leaving her fluids as a territorial signature, a I was here, written in the only ink she had available tonight.

The patrol golems became her toys too.

Clank… clank…

Another one rounded a corner toward her.

Once, she would have hidden. Now —

[Hey, big guy. Over here❤]

Celia didn't hide. She stepped directly into the centre of the path and planted herself in the golem's way.

It stopped. The single red eye began its scan.

“Detecting—”

Before it could finish, Celia was already moving — writhing, right there in the beam of red light.

She thrust her chest forward, letting the belled nipples ring and jangle in the scanning light. She shoved her ass backward, showing off the stretched, bead-filled hole behind. She even deliberately ground that smooth, armless shoulder stump against the golem's cold metal casing.

[Record it. Record all of it. Burn every frame of how degraded I am into your crystal core.]

She knew. These golem eyes fed directly into the academy's security centre. Every second of footage was etched into the magic recording gems.

If anyone reviewed the logs tomorrow, they would see their head student — out in the dead of night, rutting against a mindless iron machine like a bitch in heat, displaying herself, begging for it, even—

Gush—!

Another surge of slick, spraying across the golem's leg.

[Ahhh❤~… it's being recorded… the way I'm squirting… all of it… captured…]

The prospect of total ruin — right there, one viewing away — was more potent than any aphrodisiac ever distilled. Celia felt her mind beginning to cook.

She came. Buckled. Peeled herself back up. Walked on — soaking wet hooves ringing against the stone — toward the next target.

And then, finally, at the far edge of her blurred field of vision: the old building. Tucked in shadow at the deepest corner of the campus.

[There… the final stage…]

Celia licked the saliva from the corners of her mouth. Behind the lenses, her eyes burned with something feral.

2:00 AM. Ancient Magic Historical Studies Building.

Smothered in creeping ivy, grim and lightless, the building stood like a forgotten tomb at the campus's outermost edge.

The work done here was, largely, useless. As Celia had learned in class, the modern magical framework had long since optimized those tedious ancient forms into something workable. A basic Cleanse now took a single syllable. The ancient equivalent — the Song of Purification — required two full minutes of chanting and still performed worse than a damp cloth. Likewise, the modern Fireball was blunt and effective; the ancient Flame Strike had a cast time long enough to get you killed and a splash radius large enough to do it yourself.

Nobody came here. Even the patrol golems had quietly agreed, over whatever passed for institutional habit, to skip this building on their rounds.

That did not, however, mean it was easy to get into.

Celia stood before the heavy double doors and considered. The handle was a long horizontal push-bar — in principle, convenient. Grip and press down, and the door opens.

In principle.

The principle assumed hands.

She lifted her right hoof and pressed it down on the bar.

Click.

The latch retracted.

New problem: the door opened outward.

Her foot was on the bar. She had no way to pull. The moment she lifted her foot, the bar would spring back and re-lock.

[Damn it all… this is genuinely inconvenient.]

She stood there stymied, her ass shifting with irritable little swings — the metal box clanking against the bead-ring, the bells joining in with their pointless commentary.

Then: a spark.

No hands. But she did have an auxiliary attachment.

Celia turned around. Back to the door. She rose onto her hoof tips, pushed her ass out, and manoeuvred the heavy alloy case — hanging from the anal bead pull-ring — toward the push-bar.

[That's it… hook it.]

What followed was a profoundly undignified operation.

She had to rut her ass back and forth against the door handle like a dog in heat, the box knocking against the wood in rhythmic, muffled thumps that sounded distressingly like someone requesting entry.

[A little to the left… lower…]

Then — the hook at the top of the case caught. Snagged on the inner edge of the metal bar.

[Now. One shot.]

Celia breathed in. Clenched her sphincter with everything she had.

The meter of bead string went taut inside her, wrenching at the pull-ring, dragging the case downward.

Simultaneously, she threw her weight forward, legs driving hard.

CREEEEAK——!!

With a sound like a tooth being pulled, the heavy double door — against all reasonable expectation — was hauled open by her ass. A gap appeared.

[It opened!]

She didn't waste a heartbeat. Before it could swing back, she spun, shouldered into the gap, and squeezed herself through — slick and sinuous as a black eel.

Thoom.

The door swung shut behind her.

Silence. Total.

The interior was darker than the night outside. At the far end of the corridor, one decrepit magic lamp flickered in irregular pulses, casting a sickly, stuttering white glow. The air smelled of old paper and long-settled mould.

[In. Finally, in. Now…]

Celia looked down the branching corridors ahead of her, and felt despair rise up like groundwater.

Four floors. Dozens of rooms per floor. And scattered across all of it — multiple men's lavatories.

When she had cast the 【Nondirectional Random Teleport】 to send the key away, she'd only specified a rough target: the men's lavatories in this building. Which floor? Which room? On the sink? In a urinal? At the bottom of a cistern?

She had absolutely no idea.

Which meant she had to search every single one. Blind, armless, and on a clock.

[If I don't hurry… dawn comes…]

[If one of the early-rising professors comes in to run an experiment… or that unhinged old janitor finds me first… mmmph-nyaah❤~!]

The thought sent a shiver through her.

And the toys, as though reading her anxiety, chose this moment to begin a fresh campaign.

Bzzzz— hmmmmm—

Every vibration source synced simultaneously to maximum.

“Mmmmph——!!”

Both legs gave. She went down, knees cracking against the cold floor, horseshoes ringing out a bright clang on impact.

She stayed there a moment — ass high in the air, breath ragged, panting like an animal.

[C-can't… can't come here… have to find the key…]

She hauled herself upright through sheer stubbornness, dragged her still-trembling body toward the nearest stairwell.

[Start from the first floor… check them one by one…]

[Men's lavatories… I have to go into the men's lavatories… I get to go into a place soaked in the stench of men~❤…]

The transgressive thrill of it blunted, slightly, the edge of her fear.

Celia set her clopping hooves in motion and walked deeper into the grim old building, beginning her pilgrimage through the unknown.

Inside the darkened building, what little visual information the magic lenses could gather was worse than outside — her already-limited three-meter range had compressed further, fed only by the faint bleed of moonlight and lamplight through the windows. She navigated more by memory than sight: she had reconnoitred this route before, at a more lucid moment, and the layout had lodged somewhere in the back of her mind.

Lavatories, at least, were public facilities. They wouldn't be tucked into lightless corners. The nearly blind latex mare felt her way along the main corridor, riding luck and fragments of prior observation, until the end of the hallway resolved itself into something recognizable — a door, and beside it a stairwell, and at the stairwell a window ledge where moonlight came through at an angle just bright enough to illuminate a sign.

She pressed her face close. Squinted. Made out the silhouette of a figure without a skirt.

Her hooves trembled slightly.

Stamp~. Stamp~.

She pushed the door open with her shoulder and eased herself inside.

2:15 AM. Men's Lavatory, First Floor, Ancient Magic Building.

Click!

Her shoulder hit the light switch. Harsh white light flooded the space instantly.

After so long in the dark, the sudden brightness hit Celia like a flash bang. Even through the lenses, she flinched — eyes squeezing shut on instinct, body swaying before she caught herself.

When her vision finally adjusted, she took in the room.

A standard academy men's lavatory. On the left: a row of urinals, their porcelain glazed over with old yellow deposits. On the right: three stall doors, all hanging half-open. The floor was old anti-slip tile, the grout lines packed black with years of accumulation.

The smell hit her like a wall.

Stale piss baked into the fixtures. Cheap disinfectant that had long since given up. Sewer gas seeping back up through the drains. And underneath all of it — that particular thick, hormonal reek that only accumulates in spaces where men have been congregating, relieving themselves, and leaving, for decades.

The old Celia would have vomited before she cleared the doorway.

The current Celia had a nose hooked wide open by two metal prongs, nostrils flared, physically incapable of holding her breath. Every inhale drove the stench straight in — through her nasal passages and directly into her brain, unfiltered, relentless.

[Ugh… the smell… it's so bad… it's genuinely awful…]

Her stomach turned.

Her body did the opposite.

Bzzz…

The reek of old piss worked on her like the most potent drug imaginable. The urethral bead string she was stuffed around had begun to itch — to burn — as though her body had developed an urgent need to add to the supply.

Inside her, the spiral dildo spun and churned, stirring the poison already brewing in her gut into something more concentrated.

Slick—

A thread of fluid thicker than anything she'd produced tonight slid down her inner thigh and dripped onto tiles that had absorbed the footsteps and the leavings of countless men over countless years.

[Why… why does this smell make me…❤]

[Have I actually become the kind of degenerate who gets off on the smell of men's piss?]

Celia bit down on the gag, eyes going soft and unfocused as she stared at the stained urinal row. An impulse rose in her — sudden, specific, and appalling: to go over there. To kneel in one of those basins. To press her tongue against the yellow-crusted porcelain and lick it clean.

[No— no! Find the key!]

She snapped her head sideways hard enough to make the latex horse ears flop. Trying to physically shake the thoughts loose.

[Find the key. Get free. Go home. Shower.]

She started moving through the room.

Clop. Clop. Clop…

The horseshoe-ring bounced back from the close walls.

Her vision was imprecise, but in the lit room she could make out the shape of most things at reasonable distance.

The sink basin: empty. A dried-out bar of soap.

The windowsill: empty. Several dead flies.

The urinals:

She forced herself closer, peering into each one in turn. Cigarette butts. Nothing else.

[Not out here… that means it has to be…]

Her gaze moved to the three stall doors.

The dread thickened.

She walked to the first stall and shouldered the door open.

Squat toilet. Imperfectly flushed.

No key.

Second stall.

Nothing.

Third.

Empty.

[Not here… nothing on the first floor…]

A measure of disappointment. And underneath it, shamefully, a measure of relief — at least she didn't have to go fishing in anything.

Then the worse thought surfaced.

[What if the key actually is in a bowl somewhere… what if I found it and just… flushed it?]

[If it's gone… I'd never get free. I'd stay a mare forever. Someone else's forever❤~!!]

The pull of it — of that complete self-erasure — was so strong that she actually stood there for a moment, staring at a flush valve, genuinely deliberating.

[No. Celia. Snap out of it.]

She turned and knocked the side of her head against the door frame.

Thunk.

The pain was sharp and clarifying.

[Second floor. Third. Fourth. It's up there somewhere.]

She turned away and fled — there was no other word for it — from the first-floor men's lavatory and its intolerable combination of disgust and desire.

The real challenge waited above. What she didn't know was that the key was already there — lying quietly in the cistern of the second-to-last stall on the fourth floor, patient as a stone.

2:45 AM. Second Floor, Ancient Magic Building.

Clop. Clop. Clop…

Her footsteps had grown heavier.

Climbing from the first floor to the second — in horseshoe boots, with no arms to steady herself — had been a serious drain. And the toys inside her seemed to have noticed the altitude because the moment she stepped onto the second-floor corridor, the intensity ratcheted up.

Bzzzzz—!

If the first floor had been gentle pressure, the second floor was relentless kneading. The spiral dildo had shifted to mid-speed. The textured shaft ground against her inner walls with every rotation, wringing fresh slick out of her with mechanical consistency.

Squelch~… squelch~…

The wet sounds echoed down the dead-quiet corridor, obscene and inescapable — like someone churning a bucket of paste.

[So loud… it's too loud…]

Celia's face burned. The earplugs filtered most external sound, but the vibration conducted through her own body and the sensation of fluid movement were things no amount of insulation could touch.

If anyone walked past right now — even without seeing her — that sound alone would tell them everything. Something in heat, hiding in the dark.

She dragged herself into the second-floor men's lavatory.

Click.

Lights on.

Dirtier than downstairs. A few research rooms on this floor meant regular late-night use — the tiles around the urinals had acquired a distinct discolouration, a corona of old staining.

The smell surged into her wide-open nostrils and made her head swim.

[Key. Find the key.]

She fought the dizziness and began a more thorough search than before — because now she'd started to worry the key might be hiding somewhere her eyes couldn't easily reach.

Which meant she had to approach each urinal directly.

She spread her legs, bent her knees, and slowly lowered herself — a wide-stance squat, body sinking toward the floor.

[Get lower… look carefully…]

She brought her nose hook-warped face toward the porcelain. Closer. Closer.

The tip of her nose, centimetres from the yellow-crusted bowl.

The concentrated ammonia smell drove into her nostrils like hot wire.

[Mmph❤… dizzy… I feel drunk from just the fumes…]

She hadn't actually licked anything. But the act of crouching here, this close, inhaling this deeply — it made her feel exactly like a dog pressing its nose to its owner's scent marks.

Every urinal got the same treatment. Squat. Lean in. Inhale. Look. Stand.

It was torture on her thigh muscles.

Especially the squatting — which changed the angle of everything inside her, driving the toys deeper with each descent.

Bzzz— BZZZT!

The mid-speed dildo rammed against her cervix. The bead chain stirred and dragged through her gut.

“Haaah❤… haaah❤…”

Sweat dripped from her chin into the urinal below.

She finished the exterior. Moved to the stalls.

Nothing.

[Not on the second floor either… still nothing…]

She straightened up slowly, knees trembling from sustained strain.

Which meant climbing again.

Third floor. Fourth floor.

And by now, all three toys had settled into a steady mid-intensity rhythm that showed no sign of relenting. The continuous stimulation was eating at her ability to think — softening her legs, fogging her mind, turning the simple act of walking into something that required active concentration.

[Third floor. The key is up there. It has to be.]

She switched the lights off and turned toward the stairwell.

The metal case hanging from her ass swung with her steps, clanking and ringing in a tone that sounded, to her deteriorating mind, distinctly like mockery.

You'll never get me open.

3:15 AM. Third Floor, Ancient Magic Building.

Stamp… stamp…

No lightness left in her gait. Each footfall was heavy, dragging.

Celia felt as though the building were pressing down on her from above. Every step up the staircase made her thighs scream. Her knees shook with the effort of each riser.

The toys had escalated to 【High Power】.

The spiral dildo churned inside her like a machine trying to bore through to the other side. The anal bead chain moved like an angry constrictor, each undulation laced with current. Even the slender urethral string was firing off steady, nerve-numbing pulses.

[Can't… so tired… just want to lie down…]

She braced her shoulder against the wall and shuffled herself through the third-floor lavatory door.

Lights on.

Cleaner up here — the third floor was mostly dead-archive storage, rarely visited.

Celia clung to that small hope and pushed through it, ransacking the room with what remained of her energy. Every stall. Every corner. She even kicked open the mop bucket with one hoof to check underneath.

Nothing.

Not a trace.

[Why… why isn't it here!]

The despair came in like a tide now.

Had the nondirectional teleport misfired? Was the key not even in this building? Had it slipped sideways into some interstitial void?

[No. Fourth floor. One more. It has to be there.]

She set her jaw — around the gag — and pushed the last of her chips onto the top floor.

3:45 AM. Fourth Floor, Ancient Magic Building.

The top floor.

Celia had practically crawled up the last staircase. By the time she stood at the fourth-floor lavatory door, the latex suit was soaked through — sweat dripping from the horseshoe boots, pattering on the stone.

[It's here. It has to be here. Please.]

She spent the last reserves of her strength headbutting the light switch.

Harsh light. The top-floor lavatory looked emptier than the others — a faint smell of iron in the water pipes, pressure too weak this high up.

Celia threw herself at the room like a madwoman.

Urinals? Empty!

Sink basin? Empty!

Windowsill? Dust!

Her breathing was ragged now. Her vision swimming.

First stall. Nothing.

Second stall. Nothing.

Third stall—

She lurched inside and stared down at a squat toilet so clean it nearly gleamed.

Empty.

She even kicked the flush valve with her hoof in case the key had somehow lodged behind it.

Nothing.

The last stall. She looked at an equally vacant porcelain bowl, and felt whatever remained of her soul quietly leave her body.

[There's… nothing…]

[There's nothing anywhere…]

Her legs gave out. She sat down hard on the filth-crusted tile.

Her full weight dropped onto the anal bead pull-ring.

“Nnnghyaaah——!!”

Pleasure and despair, simultaneous, catastrophic.

[It's over. It's completely over.]

[Dawn is coming. I can't find the key. I can't get this off me.]

[I'm actually going to… stay a mare forever❤!!]

What she did not know — what she couldn't know — was that the key was right there. In the second-to-last stall, she had already searched. Inside the old-style cistern mounted against the wall, beneath its heavy ceramic lid.

Waiting.

But for a creature with no hands and a mind dissolving at the edges — lifting a ceramic cistern lid was simply not a thought she was capable of having. She had looked at the surfaces. She had seen nothing on them. That was the full extent of what her brain could manage.

The last hope had dissolved. The search was over.

4:00 AM. Fourth Floor Men's Lavatory, Ancient Magic Building.

Celia sat collapsed on the floor. And then something shifted behind the lenses — those dull, ash-gray eyes suddenly flooded with a manic, unhinged light.

[No. Wait. WAIT.]

She jerked her head violently. The latex horse ears whipped sideways. Every bell on her body rang out in a chaotic chorus.

[I'm Celia. I am the greatest magical talent the Empire has produced in a century. My spells do not misfire.]

The 【Nondirectional Random Teleport】 had been set perfectly. The key was here. It was absolutely, certainly, one-hundred-percent somewhere in the men's lavatories of this building.

If it wasn't on the fourth floor—

[Then I missed it. I wasn't thorough enough.]

[The first floor — I was panicking, I only checked the surfaces.]

[The second floor — there was that corner I couldn't quite see clearly.]

The drug called denial flooded her system fast. She refused to admit the search was finished. Instead, she built herself a replacement hope out of nothing and breathed life into it.

[It's there. Hidden in some gap I didn't notice. It has to be.]

[I have to go back down. Search again. Properly this time.]

She glanced at the window. The blackness outside had shifted — not yet light, but no longer fully dark. The first suggestion of grey at the horizon's edge.

No time.

Two hours, maybe less. Maybe much less. A janitor. An early riser. Someone running an experiment.

[Move. Move. MOVE.]

She launched herself off the floor like a broken clockwork toy given one last winding.

She didn't care about the horseshoes grinding against her knees on the way up. She didn't care that the toys had been running long enough to reduce her legs to something approaching wet paper. She spun and drove herself out of the fourth-floor lavatory at a dead run.

Stamp! Stamp! Stamp! Stamp!

Down the stairs faster than she'd come up. Faster than was sane.

She was nearly falling. No railing, no vision worth speaking of — just momentum and a refusal to stop.

Several times the horseshoe hit a step-edge wrong and her whole body lurched forward, on the edge of a tumble, and each time some desperate animal instinct hauled her back.

Third-floor lavatory.

[Here! In here!]

She crashed through the door — no careful searching this time, just chaos. Shouldering stall doors open with full-body impacts. Kicking at corners with her hooves.

[Nothing! Still nothing! WHY IS THERE NOTHING!]

Second floor.

[It's here — under that urinal — yes, it must be—]

She went to her knees on the tile, pressed her face flat against the floor, squinting at gaps that did not exist.

Her cheek on tile that had been urinated on by generations of male students. Her nostrils pressed into the concentrated residue of all of it. She didn't notice. She didn't care.

[How can it not be here?! It has to be here!]

First floor.

When she pushed back into the room where this had all begun, she was unrecognizable.

The black latex suit was smeared with dust and grime. The material at her knees had been worn pale. Sweat and fluids of various unexamined origins made her look like something dredged from a drain.

[Here. It's here. I know it's here.]

She prostrated herself before the same squat toilet she had stared into hours ago — the one that had briefly tempted her with the idea of flushing everything away — and fixed her eyes on the drain opening.

Still.

Empty.

[AAAAAARGHHHH——!!]

Every ounce of desperation Celia's body contained tried to exit through her throat at once, and found the deep-throat gag waiting.

“Mmmmmph——!!”

She had gone mad.

She started headbutting the wall. Then the flush valve. Then the wall again.

[Come out. Just come OUT.]

[I'm a genius. I cannot become a mare. I cannot die like this.]

But reality does not negotiate.

No matter how she raged, no matter how elaborately she lied to herself, the key lying quietly in the fourth-floor cistern was not going to fly down four flights of stairs to find her.

And outside the windows — irreversibly, unstoppably — the sky had begun to lighten.

Dawn had come.

4:30 AM. First Floor Men's Lavatory, Ancient Magic Building.

Celia's forehead rested against the cold flush valve, eyes vacant.

Then her gaze drifted upward — along the silver metal pipe — and stopped on something she had looked at a dozen times tonight without truly seeing.

The ceramic cistern.

[The cistern… THE CISTERN!!]

Lightning through fog.

[How could I be so stupid. How did I not think of this.]

[The teleport was nondirectional. Something landing inside a cistern — that's not unlikely at all. That's exactly the kind of place it would go.]

The flame caught. It grew.

She made a decision: this was the play. No more casting around in corners and crawling along floors. Every surface in this building had already been inspected at nose-level by a half-blind latex mare. If it wasn't on a surface, it was inside something — and there was only one kind of inside she hadn't checked.

[If this doesn't work… I hide on the fourth floor for the day. Wait for dark. Figure something out.]

That was her last-resort. The fallback she was allowing herself.

But first: a significant physical problem.

The ceramic cistern lid. Not enormous by any measure. But for a creature with no arms, smooth-bodied, and covered in friction-resistant latex — it might as well have been a vault door.

How?

She tried her head. Useless — the latex was too slick, no purchase at all.

Her shoulder stumps? Nothing to hook with. The spatial rings had taken her arms off at the root; what remained was a smooth, rounded surface with no useful protrusions.

[There has to be something… something that sticks out…]

She shifted in frustration, and felt it — something hard pressing against the inside of her thigh.

The base of the spiral dildo. The five centimetres of it protruding outside her body.

[There.]

The cisterns in this building were mounted at a height that sat around waist level for an average man. For Celia, elevated by the horseshoe boots, they landed almost exactly at hip height.

[If I rise onto my toes… I can bring that base level with the cistern lid edge…]

This was an insane plan. A depraved plan.

She didn't even need to remove the lid fully — just lever it open enough to see whether anything was inside.

[No time to deliberate. Go.]

Celia positioned herself in front of the first stall's cistern, facing it directly.

She rose onto her hoof tips and angled the black dildo base toward the edge of the ceramic lid.

[Contact… now push.]

She drove from the hips, pushing forward.

Scrrrk—

Ceramic on ceramic — the lid shifted!

And simultaneously —

“Squelch——!!”

Physics, entirely fair as always. Every newton she pushed into the lid came back through the dildo and directly into her body.

The spiral head — which had been resting against her cervix — was driven in hard.

At maximum vibration.

“Mmmmmph-NYAAAHHH❤❤——!!!”

Celia's eyes rolled back. Her entire body went rigid.

[Ahhh— my womb❤— something's happening to my womb❤!!]

The deep, reverberating impact against her cervix detonated everything she'd been accumulating for the past two hours.

GUSH— SPLASH!!

A fierce jet of slick erupted through the gap around the dildo and hit the cistern directly, spattering across the surface, some of it finding its way through the crack she'd just forced open.

She came.

The kind of orgasm that takes the body completely offline — every muscle seizing, then going limp in sequence, like a collapsing structure.

[Can't… move…]

She slumped against the cistern like a broken marionette and watched several irreplaceable minutes dissolve in the aftershocks.

Come on. Move. Body, MOVE.

When she finally could, she peered into the gap.

Empty.

[Next one. Now!]

First floor, second stall.

Push. Drive.

“Squelch——!!”

“Mmmmmph-nyaaahhh❤——!!”

Another forced orgasm. Another several minutes lost to paralysis.

The mechanism had revealed itself as a vicious trap: an action that should take seconds had been converted, by pure geometry and physics, into minutes of compulsory pleasure that left her useless on the floor.

Second floor.

Third floor.

Celia pushed her way up through the building, cistern by cistern, orgasm by orgasm, leaving a trail of herself on every surface she passed — on the latex, down her legs, across the tiles. Her womb had been battered numb, beginning to ache with a deep internal soreness she was too far gone to process. She didn't stop.

One more breath meant one more stall to check.

And then—

5:40 AM.

The eastern sky had gone the colour of fish-belly white. The first light was minutes away from breaking through.

Celia hauled what remained of her body into the fourth-floor lavatory.

Her mind was mostly gone.

First stall.

Push…

Squelch!

Orgasm. Spray. Empty.

[Second to last…]

She dragged herself to the stall that had defeated her once already.

Last chance. If this were empty too, she would spend the day curled up in a toilet stall, waiting for dark, existing as nothing more than a mare.

Trembling, she rose onto her hoof tips. The dildo base — slicked now with everything that had happened tonight — found the cistern lid's edge.

[Please. Let it be there. Please.]

Push!!

Scrrrk—

The lid shifted halfway open.

Squelch——!!

The familiar impact through her cervix. Darkness closing in at the edges.

But in the last fraction of a second before she lost the thread entirely, her blurred vision — through the lenses, through the blur — caught something at the bottom of the cistern.

A glint. Among the rusted components. Against the porcelain floor of the tank, in the clear water.

A small golden key. Gleaming quietly.

[Found— I found it!!]

Celia let out a muffled, broken cry, and was swallowed completely by an orgasm that felt, for the first time all night, like hope.

5:50 AM. Fourth Floor Men's Lavatory.

The key winked in the thin early light. Gold. Beautiful. Right there.

Salvation.

And completely, absolutely, unreachable.

Celia lay slumped against the cistern like something with its spine removed, smooth shoulder stumps pressing uselessly against the cold tile.

How.

Her mouth? She couldn't reach the bottom of the tank, and the deep-throat gag left her nothing to grip with regardless.

Her feet? The horseshoe boots were too large to fit into the opening, and even if they weren't, she couldn't grip a flat key between them.

The case hook? She couldn't raise her rear high enough.

[Heh… heheheheh…]

[So this is what a true dead-end looks like.]

She had found it. She had actually found it. And she could not take it.

One final step separated her from freedom, and that step's name was no hands.

The despair of this — of being close enough to see it, close enough to watch light play across its surface — was a hundredfold worse than not finding it at all. It came down like a hammer on whatever remained of her rational mind and finished the job.

Gush——!!

No warning. No physical trigger. Pure psychic impact.

Her cunt spasmed and released the most violent surge of the entire night's adventure —

“Mmmmmmph-NYAAAHH-nyaaahh-nyaaahh❤❤❤!!!!”

A sound that was half wail, half ecstatic shriek tore through the gag and rang off the empty tiles of the fourth-floor lavatory.

[I can't— I'm dying— I'm actually dying❤❤❤!!]

Consciousness went somewhere warm and thoughtless. Fear, shame, consequences, dawn — all of it incinerated in the heat of that climax, gone to ash.

[It doesn't matter. None of it matters any more.]

A thought surfaced in the melted remains of her brain. Fully formed. Serene.

[Since I'm already finished… I may as well be finished completely❤.]

[I'm done hiding. I'm going downstairs to the front entrance.]

[I'll spread my legs. Show off that over-sensitive little cunt. Let the vibrations do whatever they want to me.]

[Wait for whoever opens the door first — student, janitor, anyone.]

[The moment they walk in — I'll gush all over their shoes❤.]

[And then I'll kneel there and beg them. Beg them to take those shoes — soaked in my fluids — and press them against my face❤.]

The fantasy was so depraved, so completely without dignity, that her body shook with fresh excitement. She was already constructing the scene in vivid detail.

She had nearly convinced herself to stand up and go do it.

And then.

5:59 AM.

One minute before the academy began to wake.

The black metal collar around Celia's throat — the one that had been her shackle all night — gave a single, tiny sound.

Click.

The power stone, drained to its absolute last reserve, expired.

The collar went dull. The clasp sprang open. It cracked in two and slid from her slender neck, the pieces dropping onto the fluid-soaked tile with a small clatter.

Bwommm——!!

A wave of warmth. Familiar. Immense.

Like a floodgate thrown open. Like being poured back into yourself.

The full magical power of an A-rank Arch-Mage, rushing home.

Celia sat very still.

Still slumped on the floor. Ass in the air. Covered in everything the night had produced.

[…Huh?]

She twitched her mind experimentally.

The body that had felt like a mountain of dead weight — suddenly nothing. The cistern water that had been impossibly out of reach — she could feel every cubic centimetre of it, feel the key resting against the bottom, as clearly as if it were sitting in her palm.

[My magic… came back?]

[Now. It came back now.]

What a spectacular joke.

At the precise moment, she had fully committed to abandoning personhood and becoming a public-bathroom sow — the power came back.

Which meant she was saved.

Which also meant that everything — crawling up stairwells like a dog, headbutting doors open with her ass, squirting on alchemy professors' sacred sigils, being categorized as a pet by a security golem — all of it could have been avoided if she had simply waited one more minute.

[Heh.]

[HAHAHAHAHAHA.]

She laughed in her head. Genuinely, completely, hysterically.

She didn't rush to stand. She simply reached out with her newly restored telekinesis and gave the key the gentlest possible nudge.

Ting.

The golden key rose from the water, trailing droplets, and hovered in the air before her face.

Game complete.

But the heat in Celia's eyes had not diminished by a single degree.

[Magic's back. Clean up. Get home before whoever has the early shift opens that front door. Sleep.]

[After all…]

[Tonight's game…]

[…was really something special❤❤❤.]

6:00 AM. Fourth Floor Men's Lavatory, Ancient Magic Building.

The clock ticked to the hour with mechanical precision.

In the instant before the first true ray of sunlight lanced through the window, a complex lattice of pale blue light bloomed beneath Celia's feet — a teleportation array, intricate and perfectly drawn. And because even now, she retained the standards of a high-functioning degenerate, she spent the last half-second before departure sweeping her telekinesis across the room, pressing every ceramic cistern lid she had forced open back into its proper place with quiet, careful finality.

Bwommm——!

Space folded. Light scattered and reassembled.

6:01 AM. Girls' Dormitory. Head Student Suite.

In a soft wash of magical luminescence, the armless latex mare — filthy, soaked, exhausted, fresh from a full night's unhinged exhibitionism — materialized in the centre of her own warm, immaculate bedroom.

The stench of old urinals dissolved instantly into lavender.

“Hahh… home…”

No hands to wipe her face. But the knot in her chest finally loosened.

Any normal person would now: remove the equipment, shower, collapse into bed, sleep until dinner.

For a Celia who had been thoroughly, irreparably broken by the night's events, normal sounded like a form of punishment.

[So tired… no sleep all night… came and squirted until I lost count…]

She took two clopping steps across the room.

[But… just lie down and sleep it off? How boring. The fire's still going❤~.]

She checked the clock. Two hours before classes. A little while yet before full daylight.

Being the academy's undisputed genius came with privileges others couldn't imagine.

Celia closed her eyes and connected to the academy's magical communication network. She composed a message to her academic supervisor:

【Esteemed Professor — regarding the spatial fold circuit stability optimization project, I experienced a significant breakthrough last night and have been running continuous experiments. I am currently at a critical phase of data convergence and will be unable to attend today's sessions. I require uninterrupted time in my quarters for closed-door calculations. Please ensure no one disturbs my research. — Your student, Celia.】

Sent.

[Research. Yes. I have been researching… the limits of the human body and certain “specialized” applications of spatial magic…]

A flawless alibi. Who could possibly imagine that the academy's sleepless, self-sacrificing prodigy was currently standing in her room wrapped in black latex — handless, horseshoed, dripping — already plotting the next game?

[Right then. Leave approved. Time to set up the finale.]

She swept her telekinesis across every door and window. 【Advanced Warding Seal】 locked in place — short of the headmaster arriving with demolition equipment, nothing was getting through.

Secure.

The metal case floated off her rear and presented itself before her. Key inserted. Clasp released.

She withdrew two items that looked like black elastic hair ties — the 【Spatial Storage Rings】.

Her proudest semifinished invention. Her supervisor believed she was working on improving dimensional pocket stability. In reality, she had been testing whether these could sustain prolonged submersion of living limbs without causing necrosis.

Results: she was, in fact, a genius. Both arms had been gone all night. They were slightly numb. Nothing else.

[If I don't need hands… what exactly do I need legs for?]

She looked at her long legs — encased in latex, still elegant despite everything — and something feverish moved through her eyes.

[Sleeping normally is so dull… I want to become something that can only be held and used… pure meat… nothing else…]

Preparations began.

First: 【Object Solidification】.

A grey beam struck the ornate crystal chandelier overhead. The fixture — normally rated for a few dozen kilograms — became harder than forged iron in an instant. It could suspend a horse now and not shift.

Second: 【Sustained Vitality — 8 Hour Continuous】.

Green light enveloped her completely. For the next eight hours, no matter what her body was subjected to, her physiological functions would be forcibly maintained at baseline health. Oxygen deprivation, cardiac overload, dehydration — the spell would drag her back from all of it.

[That way… no accidentally dying… perfectly safe to play❤~.]

With telekinesis, she unclipped the piercing bells from nipples and clitoris.

Ting…

Pretty sound. Insufficient stimulation.

She retrieved three 【High-Frequency Mana Vibrating Eggs】 from the drawer and attached them to the three already-swollen, ring-stretched piercings — both nipples and the clitoral hood.

Bzzz—

Direct high-frequency contact. She shivered the moment they settled into place.

Then: rough hemp rope.

Nothing like the smooth latex — this rope had texture, friction, the faint prickle of natural fibre. She knotted one end to the chandelier and let the loop hang free.

The height had been calculated precisely: just reachable on tiptoe, in the horseshoe boots, with her neck extended.

[Come on, little mare… put your head through…] Something in the deep interior of her mind whispered it with perfect gentleness, and Celia — obedient to that voice in a way she was obedient to nothing else — stretched her neck forward and pressed her smooth latex-wrapped head through the noose.

Hiss…

The loop drew closed. It settled between the line of her jaw and the base of her skull. Rough fibre against the latex. Light pressure. The first suggestion of constriction.

The anticipation of oxygen deprivation began converting itself into dopamine at an almost embarrassing rate.

And now the centrepiece.

Telekinesis took the two black rings and stretched them wide — half a meter across each.

[Goodbye, legs.]

The rings started at her feet and rose.

The horseshoe boots. The slender calves. The round knees. The full thighs. Each section, as it passed through a ring — simply ceased to exist. Erased, as cleanly as chalk from a board.

The rings settled at the hip joints and were removed.

Where her thighs had been: two smooth, rounded surfaces. Black latex. Nothing else.

Celia was now a 【complete quadruple amputee】.

A limbless black form. Like an enormous latex cocoon. Like a weighted doll that couldn't fall over because it had nothing to fall with.

With no legs to bear her weight, gravity made its claim immediately.

“Ngh——!!”

Her body dropped.

The hemp rope snapped taut.

Thirty-odd kilograms — lighter without the limbs, but still thirty-odd kilograms — transferred entirely to that single point of contact around her neck.

“Khk… khk—!”

Airway compression. Blood rushing upward into the skull.

But the reduced weight held her at exactly the right threshold — not enough to kill, more than enough to matter. She swayed in the air.

Like a cured ham hanging in a butcher's shop.

“Hhahh… hhahh… dizzy… but it feels so good❤~…”

Oxygen deprivation painted coloured blooms across her vision. The dissociated, floating unreality of it was stronger than anything she'd ever taken or cast.

But she wasn't finished.

Telekinesis brought an ordinary plastic basin from the bathroom and positioned it directly beneath her suspended body.

Drip.

A single drop of fluid fell from the fully exposed junction of her thighs — nothing left now to obscure it — and struck the basin with a small, clear sound.

[That's for catching everything that leaks out of me… I'm a broken toy that won't stop dripping…]

Final step.

The two Storage Rings were returned to the alloy case with telekinesis.

Click. Locked.

The case was rehung from the anal bead pull-ring.

The image was genuinely surreal:

A limbless black latex torso, suspended from a chandelier. From its rear, a fine chain descended to a heavy iron case — the case containing everything that used to be her limbs. The case hung in the air and swayed with every movement of her body, and every sway dragged the meter of anal bead chain through her gut in long, rolling pulls.

[The key…]

The golden key — the only thing that could open the case — was picked up by her telekinesis one last time and dropped into the basin directly below her.

Clink.

One meter beneath where her feet would have been if she had feet.

Visible.

Unreachable.

No hands to pick it up. No feet to hook it closer. No way to lower herself to it. A perfect, elegant, total dead end.

[And finally… goodnight, Celia❤…]

From beneath the bed, she summoned the last piece — the 【Near-Depleted Anti-Magic Collar】. Estimated remaining charge: six to eight hours.

The black collar rose through the air, settled around her neck — around the hemp rope already there — and locked.

Click.

The instant the clasp engaged.

BWOMMMM——!!

Every thread of telekinesis, every scrap of magical awareness — gone. Snuffed like a candle.

And simultaneously, every toy on and in her body —

The vibrating eggs on both nipples and clit. The bead string in her urethra. The spiral dildo filling her cunt. The meter-long anal chain packed into her gut —

All of them detonated into 【Maximum Power Electric Shock Vibration Mode】 simultaneously.

“❤❤❤——!!!!”

She tried to scream. The noose took the sound. The deep-throat gag took the rest. What came out was a series of strangled, clicking, throttled gasps.

“Zzzt-zzzt-zzzt-zzzt!!”

Current and vibration tore through the limbless body in waves. She convulsed in the air — a finless, electrocuted thing, jerking at the end of a rope, the iron case below her swinging wildly with every spasm, each swing hauling the bead chain through her in long, brutal strokes.

No hands to grab the rope. No feet to find the floor.

“Hhahh… ahh-ahh… I can't❤~…”

[No hands— no feet— no magic—]

[Nothing left— nothing but this❤❤!!]

When morning light finally found its way through the curtains and fell across the room, the Empire's greatest magical talent was hanging from her own chandelier — a twitching, dripping, limbless black latex parcel — leaking steadily into the basin below.

The initial phase — full power, maximum shock — would run for thirty minutes before transitioning to random mode, which would accompany her through the full eight hours of her peaceful rest.

Drip… drip… drip…

The basin kept time in the silent room.

Whether she managed to lose consciousness before those thirty minutes elapsed — whether exhaustion or sensation claimed her first —

Well. Only she would ever know~.

Chapter 2

Archived Version

2:30 PM. The Academy's Premier Scholar's luxury single dormitory.

The afternoon sun blazed brilliantly outside, but it was smothered dead by the heavy velvet curtains — only a few mischievous threads of light slipped through the gaps, illuminating the breathtaking scene of depravity at the room's centre.

The air was saturated with a scent so thick it could not be dissolved — a “perfume of ruin” compounded of fermented female hormones turned musky, the acrid reek of urine long since dried, and the industrial rubber smell unique to magical latex.

Beneath the crystal chandelier enchanted with a Solidification Spell, there hung a black object: a humanoid sack of flesh, perfectly encased in black latex.

No arms — only two smooth, rounded black hemispheres where her shoulders should have been. No legs — only a clean latex seam below the hips. She resembled an inflatable doll stuffed into a roly-poly mould, or perhaps a black cocoon with its limbs amputated, hanging alone in midair.

Hmmm… hmmm…

Occasionally, a faint tremor ran through the flesh-sack, making the hemp rope around her neck emit a soft, scraping friction.

Beyond that, she had no right to struggle.

Directly beneath the flesh-sack, that plastic basin had long since given up.

Drip.

Another drop of viscous, transparent fluid slid from her exposed groin — unshielded by thighs, naked to the open air — and splashed into the basin that was nearly ready to overflow.

What filled it was not water. It was eight full hours' worth of love-nectar from this genius sorceress.

Then, at that very moment, the anti-magic collar clamped around her black-latex neck — long since dull and lightless — suddenly gave one final flicker.

Zzzt… zzzt…

The last fragment of power in the mana stone guttered out.

Click.

A crisp snap shattered the room's deathly silence. The collar's clasp sprang open and shattered into a few shards of scrap metal, tumbling through the air — clang — dropping into the basin of love-juice and sending up a few obscene little splashes.

BOOM —!

A massive, pure, and oppressively vast surge of magical power erupted from that pitch-black flesh-sack in an instant!

This was the terrifying strength of an A-rank Grand Magus. In that moment, Celia Von Novarian — she who had once made countless magical beasts flee at the mere sound of her name — reclaimed her dominion.

For a normal person, the first instinct upon regaining power would be to immediately undo every restraint, rush into the bathroom, and scour off every inch of filth.

But Celia was not a normal person. She was the most debased, most depraved academic pervert in the world.

“…❤!”

In the same second her magic returned, the “Wake-Up Alarm” program — which had been idling in randomized low-frequency vibration mode all this time — finally bared its fangs.

ZzZzZzZzZzZz——!!!!

In an instant, every toy on her body — the high-frequency vibrating eggs clamped to her nipples, the vibrating ring on her clit, the spiral dildo buried deep in her womb, the massive bead-chain packed into her bowels, the slender bead-string threaded through her urethra — every single one, without reservation, activated [MAXIMUM POWER BERSERK MODE]!

“Mmmph mmmph mmmph❤——!!!!”

Muffled behind the deep-throat gag ball stuffed into her mouth, a strangled, wretched cry tore free.

The black flesh-sack snapped taut in midair!

Her body — moments ago slack and boneless — writhed like a live fish dropped into a wok of boiling oil, spasming and convulsing violently through the air.

“Ghuuuk~!! Guh-oh! Guh-oh! Guh-oh!…!!” Her throat produced sounds like a hen laying an egg. With no hands or feet to flail, she could only use her core to thrash wildly — which only drew the rope around her neck tighter, the constriction sharpening into something more intense, a suffocating pleasure with no bottom.

“Fsssht—! Fsssht—! Splaaash——!!”

The body she thought had been wrung completely dry found, under this extreme stimulus, one final reserve to tap.

Her cunt, her urethra, her asshole — all three holes fired simultaneously like pressure-pumped water guns, jetting fluid in every direction.

The liquid sprayed in radiating arcs rather than falling obediently into the basin below, sent wild by her thrashing in midair.

The magic alloy lockbox — hanging behind her ass on a fine chain connected to the anal pull-ring — became a small boat tossed in a violent storm.

Jingle-clank! Jingle-clank!

The lockbox swung freely through the air with every frantic buck of her hips, slamming hard into the meat of her buttocks, flung out and then crashing back down — each yank dragging that one-meter bead-chain through her bowels in a savage, rhythmic friction against her Skene's glands.

(A bloody little fun fact: women don't have a prostate gland structurally identical to men's, but they possess the functionally analogous Skene's glands — sometimes called the “female prostate.” The region where the Skene's glands are located, near the G-spot, carries significantly heightened sensitivity.)

The spraying slick soaked the lockbox and trickled down the chain links, painting an obscene abstract across the floor.

This torment called “Awakening” lasted a full five minutes. Asphyxiation, high-voltage current, ultra-frequency vibration — three stimuli assaulting her fragile mind and her flesh already pushed past its limits, all at once.

Five minutes of unbroken, uninterrupted orgasm. It was only when Celia's eyes rolled back white and her consciousness shattered completely that the current finally stopped.

“Ha~… ha-aah~!…”

The black flesh-sack finally ceased its convulsions, going slack and drooping like a heap of wet rags. Only the finest shivers still ran through her body — nerve reflex, nothing more.

The room held only the sound of ragged, heaving breath filtering through the gag ball.

After a long while, an invisible telekinetic force gently cradled that ruined body. The knot of hemp rope at her neck unravelled on its own. The lockbox holding her limbs stilled, hanging quietly between her legs — if she'd had legs. Celia drifted down, slowly, like a black feather, and settled onto the soft expanse of the bed.

Click.

The strap at the back of her skull released. The sensory-deprivation blindfold — worn for a full night plus eight hours of restriction — slid free on its own.

Pop.

The deep-throat gag ball was pulled free by telekinesis, trailing a long, glistening thread: eight hours of saliva she'd been unable to swallow.

“Urgh~ — cough, cough… ha-aah~! Ha-aah~!”

Celia gulped great lungfuls of fresh air, her eyes — only now recovering their sight — still glazed and utterly unfocused.

The blindfold and gag ball were gone, but the black magical latex still clung airtight to every inch of her skin, including her head.

She looked, at present, like a living onahole encased entirely in black latex. Only two pinhole-sized openings remained where her eyes were. At her mouth and nose was a shared teardrop-shaped opening, through which a small pink tongue now flicked in and out, opening and closing.

“That was… quite a wild ride, wasn't it… gulp❤~.”

She tried moving her shoulders. No feedback from any arms — only two smooth, rounded black humps rising and falling once.

“I actually… actually turned myself into this kind of latex limbless-torso thing…” A deeply perverse surge of accomplishment welled up. Looking at her own wretched state, she felt not the slightest fear — only an excitement that made her clench the thighs that weren't there.

“Mmf… but this also proves… the research on the spatial ring's magical apparatus was a success!”

She closed her eyes. A mana probe swept through the lockbox hanging behind her ass in an instant.

Inside that folded space, her two arms and two legs floated in perfect stillness. Separated from her body for eight hours — and yet because she had meticulously calibrated the temporal flow and environmental conditions within the space, they remained fresh and flushed with colour. Even the nail polish she had applied for the experiment had not chipped.

“Perfect… absolutely perfect data. Mm, time to file a report to my supervisor~.”

Celia was in no hurry to reattach her limbs. On the contrary, she felt that her current state was simply the finest “clear bonus” a game could offer. This sensation — stripped of her four limbs, moving only by magical power, bundled uselessly inside her latex skin like a discarded thing — filled her with an unprecedented surge of academic inspiration.

“If I reconnect my hands now… that vulgar sense of physical sensation will ruin my train of thought.”

“I am a scholar… I must maintain this… pure form❤~.”

Latex-torso Celia lay on the bed a while longer, waiting for the spasms to pass. Then, with a thought, the black limbless trunk drifted up from the mattress and floated like a ghost toward the writing desk by the window, where a hardwood chair waited.

“Since I'm writing a report… I may as well write it like this.”

She guided her body with careful precision, slowly, delicately, positioning herself upright on the chair.

It was a manoeuvre that demanded considerable technical skill. Because lodged in her groin was a massive spiral dildo, thirty-five centimetres long.

Lying down had been one thing — that thing stretched her full and nudged her womb, but there had been at least some buffer.

But now she was sitting. Gravity, combined with the full weight of her upper body, bore down entirely on that small point of contact at her hips.

“Nng… mm❤!”

The instant her ass met the seat of the chair, the dildo had nowhere to go. The five centimetres of cylindrical base that had still been protruding outside her body were forced — ruthlessly, without negotiation — into that already loose and ruined entrance.

“Fshhhhzz~~~” — The dildo sank deeper and deeper, churning through the slick inner flesh and pooled nectar, a thick, wet, sucking sound filling the air.

Until the last of the base disappeared entirely inside.

And within her body, that massive cock — barbed with backward hooks and soft spines — was driven by the upward pressure of the chair, hard and mercilessly, straight into the deepest recess of her womb.

“Eeee——!! My… my womb… it's been pushed through❤!!”

Celia let out a pitch-warped shriek. The hard thing didn't merely bottom out — it shoved her entire womb upward into displacement, pulling and distorting its shape. The soft spines on the head buried themselves deep into the tender mucous membrane of her cervix, and every breath brought a bone-deep ache laced with searing pleasure.

Meanwhile, her asshole suffered the same fate without mercy.

“Squelch~!”

The one-meter bead-chain was compressed to its absolute limit. The outermost bead — the largest one — was pushed against the seat of the chair, grinding deeper into her bowels. The pull-ring emerging from her ass, along with the fine chain attached to it, was clamped tight between her two taut, black-latex-clad ass cheeks. The magical lockbox containing her limbs, with no thighs to block it, dangled awkwardly in front of the chair, swaying in midair.

The box was forged of magical alloy — not physically heavy, perhaps the weight of a few books. But to Celia, its weight was immeasurable.

Those were her hands. Those were her feet. Those were every shred of her dignity as a complete human being. And at this moment, that dignity hung from her ass and swung like a pendulum with every shiver of pleasure that moved through her.

“Ha… ha… so deep… so full❤~!”

Celia bore down against the maddening, mind-breaking sense of fullness and reached out with telekinesis to pull parchment and a quill from the drawer.

The quill floated in the air, dipping itself in ink.

“No hands, but I can still write with telekinesis — mm~, as expected of me, even my telekinetic handwriting is this beautiful~.”

She looked over the messages her supervisor had sent — full of considerate concern: “Get enough rest,” “don't push yourself too hard,” “make sure to compare the data carefully.”

Celia's lips curled into a smile so lewd it defied description. The tip of that small pink tongue peeked out.

“Yes, Supervisor… right now, I am indeed carefully comparing data ❤~.”

She set the quill to parchment.

The toys inside her — the vibrating eggs on her nipples, the ring buzzing on her clit, the dildo buried in her womb, the bead-chain packed through her bowels — seemed to sense their owner's intent. They began to hum at a slow, deep, breath-like rhythm.

Hmmm… hmmm… hmmm… The vibration was not violent. But it was penetrating. Each pulse felt like it might shake her very soul loose from its moorings.

2:45 PM. The Academy's Premier Scholar's luxury single dormitory.

At the writing desk, that black latex limbless torso maintained its breathtaking seated posture. The dildo — driven deep by the weight of sitting — had its soft-spined head scraping against her swollen, already-ruined cervix with every passing second. The bead-chain in her ass had been compressed even deeper, the massive tail-bead threatening to slide further into her rectum.

“Mm-mmf❤~.”

Celia bit her lower lip. Her eyes gleamed with something sly.

“I can't… can't write it too obviously… mm, yes, it has to sound professional, academic… just like I always do~.”

She drew a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging pleasure in her body, and refilled the quill with telekinesis.

This time, her prose became ice-cold. Restrained. Precise as a scalpel. Which only made the truth hiding beneath every line feel all the more obscene.

On the Stability of Spatial Folding Rings for Long-Term Preservation of Living Tissue— Field Report Based on Living Test Subject "Mare-01"

Experiment Designation: Mare-01 (note: "Mare" — a female horse, referring to the subject)

Test Subject: A volunteer recruited from the Lower District. Female. Excellent physical constitution. No detectable mana response. (note: herself, after having the anti-magic collar applied)

Experimental Objective: To test the stability of the spatial ring's mana circuit under extreme dynamic conditions and high-intensity external pressure.

---

I. Spatial Anchor Point Testing Under Dynamic Conditions

During the first phase of the experiment, test subject "Mare-01" was instructed to perform long-distance locomotion in non-standard gait patterns, including but not limited to high-knee marching and climbing over complex terrain. The objective was to determine whether the spatial anchor points would suffer displacement when the limb junctions (i.e., the points at which the spatial rings were worn) underwent severe kinetic shock and oscillation. Results confirmed that even under conditions of extreme imbalance caused by wide-amplitude limb swinging, the spatial rings maintained firm adhesion. No mana leakage was detected.

True account: (Spent last night marching in goose-step down the main campus road like a proper latex mare-slave — knees-up, pissing everywhere like a sprinkler cart. That dildo slammed around inside my womb with every step until my vision went black — but those two little rings that swallowed my hands and feet held perfectly steady. No matter how hard I thrashed, they wouldn't come off❤~!)

---

II. Effects of External Sensory Disruption on Subject's Physiological Indicators

To simulate extreme application scenarios, the experiment subjected the test subject to full-spectrum sensory deprivation (visual and auditory isolation) as well as respiratory restriction. An uncontrolled third-party observation source (a patrol golem) was introduced without the subject's prior knowledge. Monitoring data showed that upon the subject becoming aware of being observed while simultaneously lacking any capacity to resist, her heart rate and adrenaline levels spiked abnormally. Rather than causing psychological collapse, this spike induced a highly… particular submissive response, rendering the subject significantly more compliant with subsequent experimental directives.

True account: (When that iron lump of a golem scanned me, I nearly pissed myself with terror — and also came so hard I could barely breathe! When I heard it classify me as a “pet,” whatever was left of my human dignity just shattered — my body hit climax on the spot and I lost control of my bladder right then and there~! After that, I completely let go, arched my back and urinated directly in front of the golem, and the sensation of relieving myself on the ground like a proper animal was absolutely transcendent♥~!)

---

III. Tissue Tolerance Under Maximum Load and Suspension Conditions

During the second phase of the experiment (approximately 8 hours), the test subject was placed in a fully suspended state with no limb support, with the neck serving as the sole load-bearing point. This phase primarily observed whether the severed limbs within the spatial rings maintained mana resonance with the host body when the subject was placed in an inescapable situation accompanied by periodic nerve stimulation (simulated electric current and vibration). Results were satisfactory: even when the subject experienced violent somatic convulsions due to prolonged… neural load overflow, the spatial link to the severed limbs remained stable throughout.

True account: (This was the eight-hour hell after I got back to the dorm this morning! Strung myself up from the light fixture, hanging there like a slab of cured meat. The “alarm” program I set was even more stimulating than I'd anticipated! It vibrated so hard the fluid I squirted completely filled the basin underneath~! That feeling of wanting to die but being unable to, of having pleasure just rape you senseless while you can't do a thing about it… it suits a masochistic degenerate like me perfectly❤!)

---

IV. Micro-Perturbations to Spatial Stability Caused by Internal Filling

Additionally, to test the effect of intra-abdominal pressure on the spatial rings, select internal organs of the test subject were subjected to physical filling and dilation during the experiment. While the filling did cause a degree of organ displacement and compression, this appears to have, in some capacity, elevated the subject's… tolerance threshold. The subject's vital signs were actually more stable under the filled condition than otherwise. This may provide new conceptual direction for future mana-prosthetic interface design — specifically, the use of appropriate internal pressure to stabilize mana flow.

True account: (That's referring to the massive cock currently stuffed inside my womb as I write this. And the bead-chain in my ass. My stomach is so full it presses against my gut when I walk. But what you don't know, Supervisor — it's precisely this sense of being stuffed full that keeps this little sow sitting quietly in her chair writing your report… otherwise I'd have already gone into heat and run down to the Lower District to suck off every lowlife I could find.)

---

V. Optimization Recommendations

Based on the results of this experiment, the following improvements are recommended: upgrading the interior material of the spatial rings with a degree of… skin-compatible coating, to reduce physical abrasion at the severance interfaces. Additionally, the implementation of a remote one-click release function is advised, to prevent situations in which the test subject cannot independently retrieve her limbs due to special circumstances (such as loss of mobility).

True account: (The rings do chafe a little where they sit at the tops of my thighs — I have very delicate skin, after all~. And! The despair of watching the key fall into the basin and being unable to fish it out was absolutely terrifying! I almost genuinely died of humiliation! Remote control is absolutely necessary. But… but the despair-orgasm from that moment was so, so good❤~! Mm, it's a difficult tradeoff.)

When she finished the last character, Celia signed her name one final time in that same faintly trembling hand.

—— Celia von Novarian

“Ha…”

She set down the quill and regarded that masterpiece of a “scholarly report.”

On its surface: a rigorous, cold, even faintly cruel record of human experimentation — a perfect exhibition of Celia von Novarian, the Empire's genius, in her relentless pursuit of truth by any means necessary. But only she knew that behind every data point was a lewd moan; that every “subject response” was a faithful portrait of herself being used like a bitch in heat.

“When Supervisor reads this… she'll assume I grabbed some poor woman from the Lower District to run experiments on, won't she?”

“She could never imagine… that 'Mare-01'… that mare who was ridden until she broke… is her most prized student herself❤~!”

This vast gap in perception — this secret transgression committed right under the eyes of authority — sent another wave of heat flooding through Celia's lower belly.

Squelch~…

The vibrating egg at her groin seemed to offer a small reward for her “academic achievement,” buzzing softly once.

“Mm❤~! Send!” With a pulse of mana, that report — reeking of slick and madness — tore through space and hurtled toward her supervisor's magic tower.

With that done, Celia slumped back against the chair as though hollowed out. That black limbless torso, bathed in the afternoon light, radiated a beauty so debased it had looped back around to something bewitching.

But for this sorceress who had just cracked open the door to an entirely new world, this was only the beginning.

“Alright. Report sent. Now then…”

The “mare outing game” last night had been an unprecedented thrill. And being made into a latex limbless onahole, strung up and force-orgasmed — that too had been entrancing~.

But regrettably, the game had to end here. Both in body and spirit, Celia felt she had genuinely reached her limit. As the saying goes: even the most delicious dish grows tiresome if eaten without pause.

The afternoon had given way to evening. The setting sun-drenched the floating island in an ambiguous gold-red. The school bell rang, and the previously quiet academic quarter erupted with noise — students in various robes spilling out of buildings in clusters of two and three, chatting about the day's lectures or plans for the evening.

Among the crowd of youthful energy, a silver-haired girl shone with exceptional brilliance.

Celia von Novarian. Premier Scholar of the Academy. The Empire's brightest hope for the future.

She looked nothing like the revolting “limbless latex mare” of the night before. Using a [Localized Temporal Reversal Spell], her shaved silver hair had grown back in full, falling to her waist with the smooth sheen of moonlight; every red welt and torn mark left by piercings and pulling had vanished entirely, replaced by flawless, porcelain-soft skin.

She carried in her arms a stack of parchment documents a full ten centimetres thick — detailed mana monitoring data for the [Spatial Storage Ring].

“Good afternoon, Senior Celia!”

“Your hair looks amazing today, Senior!”

“That's a lot of files — do you need any help, Senior?”

Celia received her juniors' admiring greetings with a graceful, perfectly calibrated smile and a small nod. “No need. This is important data my supervisor requested — I have to deliver it in person.”

Her voice was clear and cool. A flower growing on a high cliff.

Only she knew what lay beneath that expensive silk robe.

Tap… tap…

The Academy-issue leather boots struck the stone path with crisp, precise sounds.

But in Celia's mind, those sounds were automatically replaced by the shameful echo from the night before — clip… clop… clip… clop… — hooves.

Her gaze appeared fixed forward. Her peripheral vision ran hungrily over every stone tile beneath her feet.

[That crack between the paving stones — that looks like a water stain from last night… and that puddle by the lamp post… that's from when I squirted~! Mmm~, that was so good, I want to piss again right now❤.]

An unspeakable heat crawled up her spine and into her skull.

To maintain her flawless “untouched” façade, she had used time magic to repair every physical wound — but she had deliberately left intact every nerve ending trained to razor sensitivity.

Beneath the robe right now: nothing at all.

No bra. No underwear.

With every step she took, the expensive silk lining of the robe brushed lightly against her two nipples — stiff and erect as pebbles — sending electric tingles sparking through her in waves. Below, her swollen, blood-flushed little clit — too excited to stay hidden — had pushed free of its hood, and with every swing of her thighs, it dragged against the fabric of the robe.

Slick~…… slick~……

The sounds were tiny, swallowed by the noise around her. But Celia could feel it with perfect clarity: her pussy was welling up like a spring, completely beyond her control, weeping slick in a steady flow.

The transparent, viscous fluid slid down her inner thighs, soaking into her sheer black stockings, darkening the fabric at the tops of her legs to a deeper shade.

[Ugh, soaked through again… usually I'd have two vibrating eggs tucked inside right about now…]

[But the battery died… all my sweet little toys are charging back in the dorm… I feel so empty right now… I want to be filled❤…]

Without the comfort of her toys, the emptiness amplified her desire exponentially. She felt like a walking powder keg — one stray spark away from detonating on the spot.

Fortunately, the [Crowd Cognitive Interference Spell] was in effect. To every passerby, she was simply the perfect, flawless goddess. No one could perceive the soaked inner thighs beneath her robe, nor the thick, heady scent of her arousal.

Gulp.

Celia swallowed quietly, bearing down on the restlessness in her chest, and quickened her pace.

Magical Apparatus Research and Development Building. Laboratory 302.

Creak—

Celia pushed the door open. A warm wave of air washed over her — coffee and the musty scent of old parchment.

“Ah… Celia-chan… you're here…”

A soft, drowsy voice drifted out from behind a mountain range of stacked books.

A small figure was slumped face down on the lab bench, quill still in hand, thick black-framed glasses slightly askew, looking thoroughly half-asleep.

Her supervisor. Lillian V. Alcott.

Thirty-two years old. The Empire's youngest authority on spatial theory. And yet, that face looked like it hadn't finished secondary school. One hundred and forty-five centimetres tall, swamped in a cream-coloured chunky knit sweater two sizes too large — the hem hanging past her bottom — with a navy-black long skirt below.

Years of sedentary research had left her small-framed, but not lean. Her chest was a modest A+, nothing to boast of — but what the skirt enclosed was astonishing: hips that were genuinely, improbably round, tracing out a fertility-goddess curve that had no business existing on someone who spent her life in a library. Black woollen tights that had started to pill at the knees. A pair of pink terrycloth slippers. Her legs were dense and warm-looking — not the scrawny daintiness of a child, but something richer, the soft fullness that belongs to a grown woman.

“Supervisor. Here's the spatial ring data you requested. Three hundred and twenty pages.”

Celia walked over and set the heavy stack on the desk.

“My… that's a lot…” Lillian looked up. Her short chestnut hair was sticking up in several places. Those jade-green eyes were glassy with exhaustion, faint shadows smudged beneath them. “You've worked so hard… Celia-chan is always so capable…”

She spoke slowly. Reacted half a beat late to everything. This congenitally absentminded quality made her a deeply respected authority in academic circles — and in daily life, an almost functional disaster.

And it was precisely because of this that Celia had dared to send her that report — the one titled “Mare-01 Living Subject Experiment” — without a single moment of concern.

“Um… Celia-chan…”

Lillian suddenly leaned closer. That small nose twitched, and she sniffed — once, twice — like a puppy.

“Hm? What is it, Supervisor?” Celia's pulse spiked. Had she been found out?

“You smell… really nice today…”

Lillian inhaled with an expression of drowsy bliss, nearly pressing herself against Celia entirely.

“It's a… warm smell… sweet… and a little bit dizzying… Is it a new perfume?”

Celia blinked.

Then something ignited in her chest.

[Perfume~? Ha… that's not perfume, my dear Supervisor. That's the scent of a female animal in heat. That's what you get when a creature's slick and sweat ferment together for hours~!]

[This lewd and dangerous smell… and you think it's pleasant~?]

Looking at the unguarded, guileless, utterly defenseless little creature before her, Celia felt something unfurl in her chest — the appetite for dominion, for corruption — spreading like weeds given water and sun.

[You're so adorable, Supervisor. Nothing but a bookworm with her nose buried in theory… and yet, you're carrying around a body like that…]

Her gaze swept freely, shamelessly, across Lillian's stocking-clad thighs — so warm and dense — and the round, perky ass that the desk had pushed into a slight tilt.

[Those legs… in hoof boots, they'd be magnificent.]

[And that round little bottom… if I attached a tail… and packed it full of bead-chain♥~!]

[If I could drag Supervisor into this game too… turn her into a drooling animal just like me…]

[Put a collar on her… dress her up in obscene latex… and then the two of us together… hnngh♥~!]

Once that depraved, impossible thought took root, it refused to leave.

Celia was acutely aware that she was getting wetter.

Slick~.

Another surge of heat, flowing down her thigh and into her boot. She could hear it — faintly, just barely.

“Hm? What was that sound?” Lillian asked, vaguely.

“Nothing, Supervisor. Probably the wind outside.” Celia answered without changing expression.

And thought, with vicious relish:

[I want to flip your skirt up right now… press that cute little face of yours into my dripping cunt… and let you taste exactly what this 'perfume' is made of.]

The next few hours passed to the sound of rustling parchment and quiet discussion.

Time slipped away unnoticed until 11:00 PM.

The campus outside the windows had gone entirely dark. Only the laboratory's magic lamp still burned.

“The spatial fluctuation coefficient here… is genuinely strange…” Lillian pushed her glasses up and pointed at a row of figures on the data sheet. “Celia-chan, look — when the 'Mare-01' sample was in a state of… um… 'Intense oscillation,' the mana feedback actually stabilized?”

She stared at the figures with a thoroughly puzzled expression, completely unaware that “intense oscillation” meant Celia strung from the ceiling last night, convulsing through one orgasm after another.

“Yes, Supervisor.” Celia sat beside her, legs crossed, quietly grinding her thighs together in an attempt to ease the growing ache of emptiness.

“I believe… it may be related to the 'mana stress response of biological subjects under extreme conditions.'” She delivered the nonsense with perfect academic composure. “Perhaps we could… run a few more 'limit experiments' of this kind?”

“Mm… but wouldn't that be too hard on the test subject…” Lillian wrinkled her brow with genuine concern. “Even if she's a volunteer… it seems so cruel…”

Looking at her supervisor's saintly tenderness, a flash of red excitement passed through Celia's eyes.

[Cruel? Heh heh♥… Supervisor… you have no idea… that 'cruelty'… is actually the greatest pleasure this world has to offer♥~!]

At this point, Celia had entered the extremely agitated and dangerous state she privately called “the eve of the hunt.”

No toys to take the edge off. Hours of accumulated restraint. And the extraordinary temptation of the tiny, exquisite creature before her — all of it was eroding her rational defences, one wall at a time.

Her gaze had fixed on Lillian's stocking-clad ankle — that small strip of soft flesh peeking out from the edge of her terrycloth slipper. It looked very soft. Very biteable.

[Ahh~, Supervisor really does look so small and cute♥. There are only the two of us here… if I used a Forced Hypnosis Spell… mm, no, no, I can't do that! Ahh~, but she really is so adorable, she's like a little white rabbit… it would be wonderful if she became my 'pet'~.]

The air was thick with that so-called “pleasant perfume” — growing denser with each passing minute, carrying now a faint, dangerous sweetness. The oblivious supervisor still had her nose buried in the data, entirely unaware that her student was constructing elaborate, obscene, and dangerous fantasies in her head.

The quiet laboratory hummed faintly with the magic lamp's buzz.

Celia was deep in her reverie of turning her supervisor into a “pet” — so deep that she didn't notice her own thigh-high stockings, soaked through with slick, catching the lamplight with a wet, glossy sheen. The Crowd Cognitive Interference Spell's duration, like Cinderella's glass slipper, had quietly expired in the small hours of the night.

“Hey~! Celia, Celia! Your stockings — your stockings!”

Lillian suddenly pointed at Celia's legs, voice pitched with unmistakable alarm. Celia snapped back to herself and looked down where her supervisor pointed.

Her long, lovely legs. The black stockings had soaked through entirely, clinging to the skin with a heavy, sodden texture. Especially at the tops of her thighs, where the fluid had pooled most — they looked like they'd just been dragged out of a lake.

[The spell failed!]

Celia's stomach dropped.

[I've been caught… what do I do? Should I act now?]

[If I hypnotize her right this second…]

A cascade of violent options flickered through her mind — and then Lillian's actual response rendered every one of them obsolete.

The supervisor who was usually half a beat behind the rest of the world moved with startling swiftness. There was not a trace of disgust or suspicion on her face. What was there instead was worried, flustered concern.

“How did you get this wet… that must be so uncomfortable…”

Lillian said this and immediately pitter-pattered across the room to the personal desk in the corner — her private domain, habitually buried under snacks and miscellany.

She dug through a drawer for a moment and came hurrying back with something dark bundled in her hands.

“There… found it!”

Lillian caught her breath and held the item out to Celia.

“Here, Celia-chan. These are a backup pair of tights I keep here. I've worn them once and washed them, but they're clean, I promise!”

A pair of neatly folded black pantyhose. They still faintly carried Lillian's particular scent — something like talcum powder, warm and faint.

“Put them on quickly — you're completely soaked. It's summer, but the nights still get cold, and letting the damp set in is bad for a girl's body!”

Lillian's expression was pure concern, those wide jade eyes guileless and sincere.

Celia accepted the tights in something like a daze. Her fingers touched the soft fabric and her thoughts stuttered to a halt.

[Wait. What… what kind of development is this?]

[She's not suspicious about why I'm wet? She doesn't think it's…?]

Before she could finish the thought, Lillian had already started constructing an explanation for her.

“Oh dear… was it because we got so absorbed in the data?” Lillian scratched her head with mild embarrassment. “Now that I think about it… we've both been at it for hours without a break, and neither of us has gone to the bathroom…”

“Yes, when you're deep in research, sometimes… accidents like this happen, it's not unheard of…”

Lillian's voice trailed smaller. A faint blush had crept onto her cheeks.

Because, truthfully, it wasn't an unfamiliar situation for her. As a researcher who became completely single-minded once she entered the zone, Lillian regularly held it past the point of comfort rather than leave the lab bench at a critical moment. There had been one occasion — recording a transient spatial fluctuation that would have vanished if she'd stepped away — when she'd held on until she simply couldn't any more, and had wet herself inside her tights right there at the bench.

The sensation of warm liquid trailing down her thighs — shameful, yes. But accompanied by a peculiar, involuntary sense of release.

And so, having this particular piece of personal history, Lillian very naturally filled in the story: her student must have had a research-related “accident.” A sacrifice for science.

“It happens, it happens — I have this kind of thing too…” she murmured, apparently trying to spare Celia any embarrassment. “Go on and change, we're the only ones here, I won't look.”

And she very considerately turned around, presenting her back to Celia.

Celia looked at the tights in her hands — her supervisor's tights, still carrying a ghost of warmth. Then she looked at that small, turned-away figure, completely unguarded.

The corner of her mouth curved.

[Since Supervisor has been so gracious… it would be rude to refuse❤~.]

She stood.

She made no effort to be modest.

The cognitive interference spell had already failed, and for the past several minutes her body had been moving several steps ahead of her brain — all that heat and impulse had already made the decision.

Whoosh —

Celia reached down and simply flipped the expensive silk robe up — inner skirt and all — and bunched it at her waist.

Then she began peeling off the soaked thigh-highs.

Hissss —

The sound of wet nylon dragging across skin was very clear in the quiet laboratory.

The noise made Lillian curious. She snuck a glance back over her shoulder — just to check whether her student needed any help.

That single glance.

It struck her like a bolt of lightning. She went entirely rigid.

“Um — Celia-chan… where… where are your underwear?”

What was displayed before this innocent supervisor was a scene of considerable impact. One might even say: scandalous.

Under the bright laboratory lamp, Celia's lower half was fully, unambiguously visible.

The soaked stockings were still bunched around her ankles. But at the top of those long, straight thighs — in the intimate place that should have had some fabric covering it —

There was nothing.

No fabric of any kind.

That smooth, hairless mound — petal-soft, as bare and clean as a peeled egg — exposed completely to the open air.

After hours of uninterrupted arousal without the buffer of underwear, her labia had flushed and swollen, presenting in a deep, inviting pink. They were pressed together, but even so, a steady trickle of transparent slick seeped through the seam and made its way down.

That glistening fluid slid down her inner thighs, soaking into the already-drenched edge of the discarded stocking and making the fabric nearly translucent — you could see, clearly, the stocking's weave pressed flush against the skin beneath.

And worse: the small clit that should have been tucked out of sight was standing at full attention, proud as a ripe little berry, with a fine thread of slick still clinging to its tip.

“…”

The air seemed to solidify.

Celia's hands froze in midair, one of the wet stockings still clutched in her fingers.

[Oh, shit.]

[Habit is a killer!]

[Half a month of going bare every day — brain went blank just now, and I just lifted the skirt to pull the tights straight on. Completely forgot underwear was a thing!]

[It's over. My perfect good-girl image is about to collapse completely!]

[No — wait. Stay calm.]

Celia's mind kicked into high gear. She studied Lillian's wide-open eyes, that small mouth parted slightly with shock, and made a decision.

[Supervisor is so hopelessly oblivious… maybe I can actually talk my way out of this!]

“Ah… about that…”

Celia didn't rush to pull her skirt down. She held the pose — that extremely lewd pose — looked down at her own dishevelled state, and arranged her face into an expression blending shame, helplessness, and one carefully calibrated trace of something else. Something like… invitation.

“It's because… spending so much time in the laboratory… underwear gets dirty so easily…”

She delivered this in the precise register of someone discussing a technical problem.

“Supervisor, as you know — we run experiments for hours at a stretch. That area… if it can't breathe, you sweat, and the dampness gets uncomfortable and clingy, and it actually interferes with your concentration…”

“And my previous pair had gone so long without being changed that they were past wearing… so I just… threw them out… ahaha…”

It was a theory riddled with holes. What self-respecting young noblewoman throws away underwear because it's soiled rather than simply changing it, and then attends class bare?

Celia delivered every word while watching Lillian's face, already braced internally for a lecture — or possibly to be thrown out.

And then.

“Threw — threw them out?!”

Lillian's voice jumped a full octave.

Celia's chest sank. [Too flimsy after all…]

And then she realized she was wrong. Catastrophically, completely wrong.

Because what blazed in Lillian's wide eyes was not the contempt or bewilderment or judgment Celia had been bracing for. Instead, in those jade-green irises — a look of fervent, electrified recognition. The look of someone who has finally, unexpectedly, found a kindred spirit.

“Ce — Celia-chan! You feel uncomfortable wearing underwear too?!”

Lillian's entire face flooded scarlet — the bright flush of acute excitement.

Whatever professional dignity she normally maintained seemed to have simply evaporated. She pitter-pattered two quick steps to close the distance, small hands — trembling slightly with the force of her feeling — seizing Celia's slick-damp fingers.

“You feel uncomfortable wearing underwear too?!”

She said it again, voice overflowing with long-suppressed resonance.

“It really is! It really is awful, isn't it?!”

And then she was off, words tumbling out of her like a dam breaking:

“That layer of fabric pressing on that area… especially when you're concentrating, doing precision work and sweating… or like just now when… um, that (accident) happens, and it's all wet and sticking to the skin, hot and itchy, it's absolute torture!”

“And some of them have edges that rub against the tops of your thighs! And the lace-trim ones! Unbearably itchy!”

“I always thought it was just me… but you — you feel the same way, Celia-chan?!”

Celia stared.

She looked at this small, flushed, nearly incoherent supervisor — practically vibrating out of her skin — and her own thoughts had simply stopped functioning.

[…I'm sorry, what.]

[What kind of development is this.]

[She's not suspicious about why I'm not wearing underwear. She thinks I'm doing it for comfort*.]*

[And the way she's talking…]

Celia's finely tuned pervert instincts locked onto the crucial detail immediately.

“Yes, exactly…” Celia recalibrated instantly, following her supervisor's lead, adjusting her tone to carry a note of kindred suffering. “We're both the type who gets completely absorbed — spending all our time in the lab without the option to step out or change… going without that stuffy underwear really is just the practical solution.”

“Yes! Yes, exactly! I knew it! Celia-chan is the only one who truly understands me!”

Lillian looked close to actual tears, shaking Celia's hands back and forth with barely contained emotion.

And as Celia watched this supervisor with no idea what she was revealing about herself, something detonated in her mind — a hypothesis so staggering, so perfectly tailored to the appetites of an academic pervert, it went off like a firework.

[Could it be…]

Her gaze drifted downward. Slowly. With deliberate, illicit intent.

Past Lillian's oversized, slightly pilling cream knit sweater. Past the curve of those improbably round hips. Coming to rest, finally, at the hem of that perfectly ordinary brown long skirt.

Below which, two warm, densely fleshed legs in thick black tights stood pressed together, toes turned slightly inward.

[Could it be that under that skirt… there's nothing either?!]

The elation of a hunter who has just discovered her prey's fatal vulnerability swept away every last trace of tension and embarrassment.

In Celia's ice-blue eyes, the carefully performed innocence she'd been wearing all evening faded away. What replaced it was something playful, dangerous, and entirely predatory.

[Oh, this is perfect.]

[So we really are… the same kind of creature, Supervisor❤~!]

[Only — I go bare because I'm chasing the thrill, the exposure, the edge of it… and you do it because of the laughable reason of 'comfort'…]

[But what difference does it make, really?]

[If neither of us is wearing underwear… then we're both just livestock-in-waiting, ready to be developed at any moment…]

Celia ran her tongue across her slightly dry lips. The plan to bring Supervisor down with her — the one she'd been turning over since she first walked through this door — had just found its perfect point of entry.

“Um… Supervisor…”

Celia's voice had dropped — slightly lower, slightly rougher, carrying a barely perceptible undercurrent.

“Since neither of us likes wearing underwear… these tights…”

She dangled the pair Lillian had given her from one hand, still carrying that ghost of warmth.

“I'll just put them on… without anything underneath. Alright?”

“Of course!” Lillian nodded, entirely without suspicion. “That's the most comfortable way! And these tights have very good stretch — they won't chafe worn directly, I promise!”

Looking at her supervisor's expression — open, bright, touchingly unaware — Celia's smile deepened past the point of return.

[Good~. Then I'll put on these tights — the ones that smell like you — right here in front of you.]

[And then… let me just verify…whether what's under your skirt… is also bare♥~.]

The air had thickened into something almost physical. Syrup-dense. Hard to breathe through.

Celia still held the backup tights in her hand — still warm from Lillian's body — and made no move to put them on. She held the pose: one hand gathering the robe, the entire smooth, flushed, utterly uncovered length of her thigh exposed to the open air.

The dried trail of slick on her inner thigh pulled taut against her skin — a sensation of shameful constriction that only fed the fire.

Lillian, meanwhile, was still humming some unidentifiable little tune, happily tidying the scattered calculation papers on the desk — flushed and delighted at having found her “no-underwear alliance.” Celia watched her, and the hunting-light in her eyes grew more intense by the second. A starving wolf watching a very small rabbit.

[Simply admitting it out loud isn't nearly enough.]

[If we're running an experiment… we need physical verification❤~.]

“Um, Supervisor…”

Celia deliberately lowered her voice, performing the precise register of girlish shyness — the kind that struggles to say something embarrassing.

Lillian, entirely unaware of the danger at her back, was busy stuffing the thick sheaf of data papers into a folder. She didn't stop moving, didn't look up, and answered with breezy lightness: “Mm? What is it, Celia-chan~? Can't find somewhere to change? That's fine, there's a privacy screen over there…”

“That's not it, Supervisor.”

Celia cut her off. Her bare feet — sockless now — settled silently against the cold laboratory floor as she took two small steps forward, closing the distance to Lillian's unsuspecting back.

“I wanted to know…”

She paused deliberately — as though gathering courage. Her ice-blue eyes, meanwhile, were running hungrily along the undefended line of Lillian's nape.

“Whether underneath, Supervisor… you really are the same as me right now…”

“Completely bare?”

The question was delivered gently, with precisely calibrated curiosity — the tone of a confidential late-night confession between close friends. But in this sealed, intimate laboratory in the small hours of the night, the effect was equivalent to a fully charged high-order Burst Spell detonating at point-blank range.

“Hm?”

Lillian went rigid mid-tidy.

The sheaf of papers in her hands rustled — several pages fluttered loose and scattered across the desk like snow.

“Hm?!”

This one was louder. Distinctly panicked.

Lillian spun around like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. The face that had been wearing a pleased “kindred spirit” smile moments ago was visibly, rapidly flooding crimson — a ripe tomato, one breath away from dripping.

“Ce — Ce-ce-ce-celia-chan?! What — what are you — what did you just say?!”

The more flustered Lillian became, the calmer Celia grew. She tipped her head slightly to one side, still holding the skirt up, still exposing that length of inner thigh — expression guileless as a spring morning, as though the perverse question had been asked by someone else entirely.

“Just that — Supervisor did say earlier, didn't you? 'Uncomfortable to wear,' 'stuffy and hot,' and so on…”

Celia blinked her wide ice-blue eyes, drawing the logical trap closed one link at a time, giving Lillian no exit.

“And besides… Supervisor has already seen my secret.”

She glanced meaningfully downward — at that still-glistening, faintly parted private place — and then looked back up, gaze going straight to the brown long skirt covering Lillian's lower half.

“By the alchemical principle of 'equivalent exchange'… since Supervisor has seen all of mine… it seems only fair that I get to verify as well.”

Celia stepped forward.

The invisible pressure of it forced Lillian backward — one small step, then another — until her bottom bumped against the edge of the desk behind her, and there was nowhere left to go.

“Supervisor… are you and I… really the same kind?”

That last Supervisor carried a trace of sweet, nasal softness — a hook, sinking directly into the tangled mess of Lillian's nerves.

“Hm? I… I…”

Lillian had completely lost the plot.

As a rigorous scholar, she could not lie. This was a matter of principle.

But as a respected supervisor — the fact that she'd already let slip “I don't wear underwear” to a student was transgressive enough. And now… now she was being cornered into proving it?

This was — this was simply too humiliating!

“That… um… ah… mm…”

Lillian's small hands fluttered in the air, groping for words. She seemed to want to explain that “yes, I go without, but it's for scientific reasons,” or perhaps to say “this is inappropriate, let's please change the subject.”

But her language centre had gone entirely offline.

From that slightly open little mouth came only a string of disconnected, meaningless syllables: “I… that… actually… ah, um… that… ah…”

Looking at her supervisor in this state — flustered, helpless, face so red it looked ready to bleed — Celia felt a wave of deep, satisfied cruelty wash through her.

[Ahh… that expression♥~, so adorable~!]

[A superior, being interrogated about something shameful by her own junior… wanting to deny it, but constitutionally incapable of lying… wanting to admit it, but her sense of shame won't let her…]

Celia narrowed her eyes and decided to add fuel. Enough to finish demolishing the last wall.

She reached out. One slender finger, pressing lightly against the hem of Lillian's oversized sweater.

A few centimetres from the waistband of the skirt. That was all.

“Supervisor isn't saying anything… does that mean… you were lying to me?”

Celia's voice acquired a slight, injured quaver — all performance, but precisely calibrated — and her eyes obligingly produced the faintest shimmer at the corners.

“So… I'm the only shameless one. Supervisor is actually wearing proper cotton underwear underneath, and secretly laughing at me for having no decency?”

“N — no! That's not it!!”

Hearing her student speak of herself this way — self-condemning, even doubting Lillian's own character — kind-hearted Lillian cried out on pure instinct.

“I wasn't lying! I also… I really…”

Lillian shut her eyes. Something in her posture shifted — like a soldier throwing down arms.

And then she just said it.

“I really… don't have anything on!!”

The words rang out, and then the laboratory fell into absolute silence. Only the magic lamp, buzzing steadily.

Lillian was breathing hard, chest heaving, unable to bring herself to open her eyes and see Celia's face.

Celia, for her part, had let a victor's smile spread across her face — slow, sharp-edged, ice-blue eyes bright with the pleasure of a finished game.

[Bingo~❤]

“Since Supervisor really isn't wearing anything…”

Her voice had gone soft and sweet. She drifted closer, bringing her lips near Lillian's ear, her exhaled breath warm against that sensitive earlobe — like two girls whispering secrets under the blankets.

“Would Supervisor let Celia… 'verify' that as well?”

“After all… only experimental data you've witnessed with your own eyes… is truly valid. Isn't that right? Supervisor❤~”

Lillian's eyes snapped open. Celia was right there, close enough to count eyelashes. And somewhere in the depths of those ice-blue eyes, Lillian caught a glimpse of something waking — a whirlpool with a name she couldn't quite read. But trusting as she was, she told herself it was simply her student's overflowing curiosity, and a need for reassurance.

[It's only… only to prove I wasn't lying…]

[And besides… Celia-chan showed me too…]

She talked herself into it, quietly, in the back of her head.

Lillian's hands trembled. Slowly, they found the sides of her brown skirt.

“Only… only one look, alright…”

“Just to… to prove I wasn't lying…”

Her voice had gone thin as thread, carrying the particular tremor of something about to cross a line it has never crossed before.

Her legs — thick and warm inside their dense black tights — pressed together tightly, knees knocking faintly with nerves.

And beneath the pull of those small hands, the brown skirt began to rise.

Celia forgot to breathe.

Past the knees — the black-tight-encased calves came into view, soft and full.

Past the thighs — the dense, yielding flesh that came from years at a desk, pliant and warm even through the heavy fabric.

And then the skirt reached the waist.

“Mm…” Lillian turned her face away in shame and squeezed her eyes shut.

What opened before Celia was a sight that hit her bloodstream like a detonation.

Exactly as Lillian had said. Nothing underneath.

The thick black pantyhose clung tight around that round, full lower body, every curve accounted for.

With no underwear beneath, the elastic fabric pressed directly into the crease at the top of her thighs and sank between the two soft, full lips.

Through the black weave, the outline was unmistakable — a perfectly shaped, lushly detailed camel toe, rendered in vivid relief.

The centre seam, buried deep in the flesh, formed a dark valley, partitioning that most private of places with merciless precision, every swell and hollow clearly defined.

The pressure of the tights had even drawn the mound forward slightly, coaxing it into prominence — a breathtaking combination of softness and implied obscenity.

“I… I really don't have anything on…” Lillian's voice had gone thick, on the verge of tears.

“Mm… you really don't, Supervisor.”

Celia's voice had gone a little rough.

She did not stop at looking.

With an air of almost-absent-mindedness — as though simply confirming there was no fabric layer beneath the tights, as though inspecting some fine alchemical engraving — she slowly bent at the waist.

“Ce — Celia-chan? What are you — what are you doing…”

Lillian felt her student's breath drawing close to her most private place and flinched, reaching down to drop the skirt.

“Shh. Don't move, Supervisor. I'm making my final confirmation.”

Celia caught Lillian's hands and stilled them.

And then she brought her face — slowly, by degrees — closer to that black-tights-carved outline.

Five centimetres. Less.

A scent rolled over her, rich and dizzying.

The scent of a woman who had been sealed inside thick, warm tights all day — possibly for many hours without a bathroom break — a scent entirely, purely, female.

Sweat, and bodily warmth, and the particular musk of that hidden place, all fermented together in the dark.

For an ordinary person, this might have been sharp. Overwhelming.

For Celia — flushed with arousal, in heat, with her very particular appetites — it was the single finest aphrodisiac in existence.

“Hssss — haah — ❤”

She inhaled, deeply and without any pretence of hiding it, and a sound escaped her that could make a listener's face go red.

The warm breath hit the most sensitive part of Lillian's anatomy through the thin weave of the tights. Lillian shuddered full-body, knees nearly buckled.

[Ahh… the smell…]

[Is this Supervisor's scent~~, it's so thick… so shameless♥~!]

Celia shut her eyes in something close to bliss, and behind her eyelids, considerably more extreme images were already beginning to take shape.

“Ce… Celia-chan?!!”

Lillian's voice came out unsteady. She could feel the warm breath against the crease of her thighs, and she caught the look in her student's eyes — something that wanted to swallow her whole — and instinct sent a small, uneasy tremor through her.

“Ah — sorry, sorry, Supervisor Lillian!”

The voice snapped Celia back. She straightened quickly, and in the space of an instant her face had rearranged itself into that harmless, slightly goofy expression of embarrassed laughter — one hand scratching the back of her head with performative sheepishness.

“It's just that — confirming Supervisor really is the same as me — I got a little too excited! That feeling of 'oh, I'm not alone in this' just moved me a bit too much, ahaha…”

Anyone with even moderate perceptiveness would have heard immediately how threadbare that explanation was. What student gets so emotionally overwhelmed by shared solidarity that she presses her face into her teacher's crotch and sniffs?

But fortunately — or, from another angle, unfortunately for Lillian — she was a genuine, thoroughgoing airhead. One could only assume all her cognitive resources had been permanently rerouted toward magical research.

“Ah… is that so…”

Lillian actually believed it. She exhaled with visible relief, let the raised hem of her skirt fall back down — concealing that breathtaking camel toe — and arranged her still-flushed face into an understanding, if awkward, smile.

“It's alright, it's alright. Having someone understand something this private really is moving. I can see how Celia-chan would feel that way.”

Watching her supervisor's completely unguarded expression, Celia exhaled quietly — and immediately felt a deeper, more settled hunger rise in its place.

[What an absolutely… hopeless idiot she is❤.]

[She believed that so easily… like a little lamb voluntarily stretching its neck into a wolf's mouth…]

With the crisis dissolved, Celia stopped hesitating.

She crossed to the old leather sofa in the corner of the lab — the one kept there because Lillian regularly worked through the night — and dropped into it without the slightest concern for wrinkling her expensive robe. She sprawled boneless against the cushions.

In her hand, she was still holding Lillian's spare tights.

“Well then… I'll be joining Supervisor's 'bare tights alliance' now~?”

She said it lightly, smiled, and lifted one long pale leg into the air — unobstructed, uncovered, indecently lovely. Her toes pointed, the black fabric stretched open, and she worked her foot in.

The tights had been washed and neatly folded. By any rational measure, they should have carried nothing but faint laundry detergent. But Celia's senses had been warped by want, and everything was different now. As that elastic black fabric slid over her ankle, wrapped her calf, and drew slowly upward—

[Ahh… so this is how it feels. These against Supervisor's skin…] She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly.

Her mind automatically enchanted the fabric — force-layering onto it that dense, suffocating female musk she'd just inhaled from between Lillian's thighs.

She could almost feel it: as though she were pulling on a pair of tights Lillian had just stepped out of, still scalding with body heat and slick with moisture.

[Slick~.]

Her pussy, apparently responsive to the fantasy, obliged with another small pulse of fluid.

The tights reached her thighs. They had been sized for Lillian's 145 cm frame, and on Celia's 168 cm body they pulled almost indecently taut.

“Mm… these are quite tight…”

The constriction, rather than discomforting her, delivered a specific and familiar pleasure — the pleasure of something binding. She stood, gripped the waistband with both hands, and snapped it up.

Thwap.

The elastic fabric locked tight around her hips. And at that most private junction, with nothing between her skin and the weave, the fabric did exactly what it had done to Lillian — sank, without mercy, between the two soft lips of her cunt.

“Hss… haah❤~.”

A low sound escaped her before she could stop it.

The rough texture of the weave dragging directly against her sensitive clit and the inner folds — God, it was good. Every step, even every breath, set that buried centre seam moving like a small, patient saw working across slick, tender mucosa.

[Is this… what Supervisor feels every day?]

[Forced apart by this fabric… constant friction… no wonder she's always shifting in her chair…]

[All along… were you enjoying this too?]

Celia looked down. The robe hid everything, but she could feel it perfectly — her own mound, shaped now exactly as Lillian's had been, pressed into a shameless camel toe by the taut weave. And given how wet she already was, that section of fabric had certainly adhered to the flesh beneath.

“Celia-chan? All done?”

Lillian's voice from across the room. She'd settled back into her chair, glasses restored to her face, apparently prepared to resume the interrupted research.

“Yes, all done, Supervisor.”

Celia turned, smile immaculate.

She walked toward her supervisor with her characteristic grace. Only she knew what was happening between her thighs with every step.

“Shall we… continue with the data comparison from before?”

She pulled her chair close — closer than strictly necessary — and settled beside Lillian. The “verification ritual” had been exhilarating, but it was only an overture. Now she was wearing Lillian's tights, her bare cunt pressed into the same configuration as Lillian's had been, and the scent of her supervisor still lingered in her nose.

She was ready. Tonight, this laboratory was not going to remain a place of scholarship.

“Supervisor — about that 'oscillation data' from earlier…” Celia leaned forward slightly, her silver hair spilling down, the ends just barely grazing Lillian's arm. “I think… perhaps we should verify it with something more hands-on, don't you?”

“More hands-on?” Lillian looked up from the data pile, expression lost.

“Exactly…” Celia's fingers came to rest on the cover of the Spatial Folding Ring experiment report, her fingertips pressing precisely on the designation Mare-01.

[Something like… having Supervisor experience it firsthand~!] she thought, while darker schemes were already assembling themselves in the lower levels of her mind.

After the awkward and strangely charged pantyhose episode, the atmosphere in the laboratory seemed to have settled back into something resembling academic normalcy. Celia sat beside Lillian, legs crossed elegantly. The tights — carrying that ghost of her supervisor's warmth — clung to her thighs, the buried seam a constant, intimate reminder of her bare state beneath.

“Oh, that's right, Supervisor.”

Celia spoke as though something had just occurred to her. Her slender fingers dipped into the air — into her personal dimensional storage — and withdrew a neat, stoppered glass jar. Inside: roughly 500 millilitres of black liquid, moving with an unhurried, self-contained flow. Not as thin as water, not as glutinous as ordinary adhesive. It had the quality of mercury — a certain high-order lustre, as though it were alive.

“What's this?” Lillian leaned in with immediate curiosity, pushing her thick-framed glasses up her nose.

“This is the specialized test suit I mentioned in the report — the one worn by volunteer 'Mare-01.'”

Celia set the glass jar on the desk, her tone carrying the quiet pride of an apprentice presenting a finished work — and beneath it, a very carefully buried anticipation.

“It's my own improvement on the commercially available 'Magical Latex Compound' — I've taken to calling it the [High-Breathability Self-Cleansing Magical Latex].”

She offered the jar to Lillian, who accepted it with both hands and brought it close for careful examination. Behind the thick lenses, those pretty eyes narrowed — methodical, precise, studying the black latex within.

[Ahh… she looks so adorable when she's being serious. She's an airhead about everything else, but when she has a magical apparatus in her hands, that look of total focus…] Celia watched her. [It makes me want to ruin her. I want to watch her sink into it. Watch her drown in it.]

She meant the admiration genuinely. In the field of magical apparatus, Lillian's expertise was of a depth that even Celia — acknowledged genius — found herself occasionally struggling to match. This woman who looked like an overgrown schoolgirl was, in terms of raw magical engineering talent, a genius among geniuses. And that combination — extraordinary brilliance, complete social obliviousness, that gentle, undefended quality — provoked in Celia something possessive and destructive in equal measure. The urge to claim her. To corrupt her. To drag her down into the same abyss of want that Celia herself had long since fallen into.

She was running out of reasons not to.

“Ce… Celia-chan?!!”

Lillian's voice came out unsteady. She could feel the warm breath against the crease of her thighs, and she caught the look in her student's eyes — something that wanted to swallow her whole — and instinct sent a small, uneasy tremor through her.

“Ah — sorry, sorry, Supervisor Lillian!”

The voice snapped Celia back. She straightened quickly, and in the space of an instant her face had rearranged itself into that harmless, slightly goofy expression of embarrassed laughter — one hand scratching the back of her head with performative sheepishness.

“It's just that — confirming Supervisor really is the same as me — I got a little too excited! That feeling of 'oh, I'm not alone in this' just moved me a bit too much, ahaha…”

Anyone with even moderate perceptiveness would have heard immediately how threadbare that explanation was. What student gets so emotionally overwhelmed by shared solidarity that she presses her face into her teacher's crotch and sniffs?

But fortunately — or, from another angle, unfortunately for Lillian — she was a genuine, thoroughgoing airhead. One could only assume all her cognitive resources had been permanently rerouted toward magical research.

“Ah… is that so…”

Lillian actually believed it. She exhaled with visible relief, let the raised hem of her skirt fall back down — concealing that breathtaking camel toe — and arranged her still-flushed face into an understanding, if awkward, smile.

“It's alright, it's alright. Having someone understand something this private really is moving. I can see how Celia-chan would feel that way.”

Watching her supervisor's completely unguarded expression, Celia exhaled quietly — and immediately felt a deeper, more settled hunger rise in its place.

[What an absolutely… hopeless idiot she is❤.]

[She believed that so easily… like a little lamb voluntarily stretching its neck into a wolf's mouth…]

With the crisis dissolved, Celia stopped hesitating.

She crossed to the old leather sofa in the corner of the lab — the one kept there because Lillian regularly worked through the night — and dropped into it without the slightest concern for wrinkling her expensive robe. She sprawled boneless against the cushions.

In her hand, she was still holding Lillian's spare tights.

“Well then… I'll be joining Supervisor's 'bare tights alliance' now~?”

She said it lightly, smiled, and lifted one long pale leg into the air — unobstructed, uncovered, indecently lovely. Her toes pointed, the black fabric stretched open, and she worked her foot in.

The tights had been washed and neatly folded. By any rational measure, they should have carried nothing but faint laundry detergent. But Celia's senses had been warped by want, and everything was different now. As that elastic black fabric slid over her ankle, wrapped her calf, and drew slowly upward—

[Ahh… so this is how it feels. These against Supervisor's skin…] She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly.

Her mind automatically enchanted the fabric — force-layering onto it that dense, suffocating female musk she'd just inhaled from between Lillian's thighs.

She could almost feel it: as though she were pulling on a pair of tights Lillian had just stepped out of, still scalding with body heat and slick with moisture.

Slick~.

Her pussy, apparently responsive to the fantasy, obliged with another small pulse of fluid.

The tights reached her thighs. They had been sized for Lillian's 145 cm frame, and on Celia's 168 cm body they pulled almost indecently taut.

“Mm… these are quite tight…”

The constriction, rather than discomforting her, delivered a specific and familiar pleasure — the pleasure of something binding. She stood, gripped the waistband with both hands, and snapped it up.

Thwap.

The elastic fabric locked tight around her hips. And at that most private junction, with nothing between her skin and the weave, the fabric did exactly what it had done to Lillian — sank, without mercy, between the two soft lips of her cunt.

“Hss… haah❤~.”

A low sound escaped her before she could stop it.

The rough texture of the weave dragging directly against her sensitive clit and the inner folds — God, it was good. Every step, even every breath, set that buried centre seam moving like a small, patient saw working across slick, tender mucosa.

[Is this… what Supervisor feels every day?]

[Forced apart by this fabric… constant friction… no wonder she's always shifting in her chair…]

[All along… were you enjoying this too?]

Celia looked down. The robe hid everything, but she could feel it perfectly — her own mound, shaped now exactly as Lillian's had been, pressed into a shameless camel toe by the taut weave. And given how wet she already was, that section of fabric had certainly adhered to the flesh beneath.

“Celia-chan? All done?”

Lillian's voice from across the room. She'd settled back into her chair, glasses restored to her face, apparently prepared to resume the interrupted research.

“Yes, all done, Supervisor.”

Celia turned, smile immaculate.

She walked toward her supervisor with her characteristic grace. Only she knew what was happening between her thighs with every step.

“Shall we… continue with the data comparison from before?”

She pulled her chair close — closer than strictly necessary — and settled beside Lillian. The “verification ritual” had been exhilarating, but it was only an overture. Now she was wearing Lillian's tights, her bare cunt pressed into the same configuration as Lillian's had beCelia gave her head a small shake to clear it, and resumed her professional composure.

“The defining feature of this latex compound,” she explained, “is that it completely solves the two greatest problems with conventional latex suits — heat retention and hygiene.”

“The wearer applies it directly to bare skin. The liquid is poured over the body, and it automatically maps the wearer's surface contours and achieves a micron-level seal. Visually it reads as an opaque black latex texture, but its actual breathability exceeds even the most sheer full-body stockings.”

“I've also woven a miniaturized [Purification and Transmission Array] into the structure. Perspiration and bodily fluids don't accumulate inside the suit and cause that clammy, slick discomfort — they're absorbed and broken down by the latex itself, or expelled through a network of specialized micropores. Even normal bodily functions can be performed while keeping the interior dry.”

Lillian said nothing. Behind her thick lenses, those narrowed jade eyes were blazing.

As a Tier-Zero authority in magical apparatus, she had known within seconds of taking the jar that she was holding something extraordinary.

“May I open it?”

“Of course. Go ahead, Supervisor.”

Lillian carefully unscrewed the cap and extended one slender finger, pressing it gently into the black liquid.

Hmmm…

The instant contact registered, a warm, smooth, vividly alive mana feedback travelled up the nerve. The black liquid moved as though it had intentions — wrapping cheerfully around her fingertip, forming in an instant a film thinner than a cicada's wing, conforming perfectly to her fingerprint, even enveloping the dry skin at the edges of her nail with quiet care.

“Mm — enclosure density matches the commercial original, breathability and thickness optimization is excellent, this is remarkable…”

Lillian exhaled in open admiration.

“The precision of this array-weaving… Celia-chan, you constructed a stable spatial purification array inside a liquid medium?”

She held her finger up to the lamp, studying the matte-sheeted black membrane, her eyes wide with delight.

“This enclosure feeling… there's no sense of foreign material at all. It's more like a second skin that breathes. And the physical isolation from ambient mana interference is simply perfect. It really is the ideal material for precision experimental testing suits!”

“I can't believe you put together something this elegant while you were simultaneously running experiments. This kind of design is hardly a new concept, but for practical application across the range of real experimental scenarios — it's indispensable!”

Celia received the praise with a composed smile, while internally, she was practically vibrating with satisfaction.

[Exactly, exactly! This is the fruit of my careful research into how to be a more comfortable 'latex mare'! So I could keep wearing it through all the… elimination and climaxing without having to sit in a puddle of my own fluids… I pulled multiple all-nighters to crack that 'fluid transmission' problem! The fact that you saw its quality immediately — truly, you are the supervisor I admire and adore most in the world!]

Celia was acutely aware that in front of an expert of Lillian's calibre, any attempt to sneak in additional “functionality” would be suicidal. So the jar contained no erotic enchantments whatsoever — no stimulation arrays, no arousal triggers. It was, by every measurable standard, a serious piece of equipment used by a thoroughly unserious person.

Its only “danger” was how extraordinarily comfortable it was. How perfectly suited it was to shameful activities.

“Since Supervisor approves, please keep this jar.”

Celia did not follow this up with anything as blunt as “why don't you try it on?” She knew Lillian too well for that. Showing her hand now would ruin everything. The art was in letting Lillian arrive at the decision herself — willingly. After all: it was nearly midnight, the other students had long since gone to bed, the rest of the faculty had left hours ago. By the time Celia left, this building would contain exactly two people. Lillian would send her home, sit alone with the report and the jar, lie awake unable to stop thinking about it — and then what would she do next~…

“Oh — and Supervisor, regarding your remaining questions about the spatial ring data — you could always recruit your own volunteer, have them wear the test suit, and reproduce the experimental procedure from the report. It would give you an independent data set to compare against mine. After all, there's nothing quite as reassuring as data you've personally observed. Isn't that right?” A small, gentle nudge — delivered with clear eyes and a completely earnest tone.

Having said that, Celia simply sat quietly and watched Lillian turn the glass jar over in her hands, reluctant to put it down, even producing her wand to run a deeper analysis on its contents.

Watching her supervisor like this — lost in the thing, adorable with concentration — Celia's anticipation was becoming nearly impossible to contain.

[A volunteer? At this hour? Where would she possibly find someone with the right physical constitution, willing to participate in a fully nude, deeply embarrassing series of experiments?]

[And besides… for a supervisor with this level of intellectual rigour and genuine curiosity… rather than trust some unreliable outsider…your restless little heart, always driving you toward firsthand truth… will lead you to exactly the right decision. Won't it~?]

She shifted her legs slightly. Lillian's tights moved against her, and a low, sweet hum of sensation passed through her. She was already imagining it — that small, soft supervisor encased entirely in black latex, standing before her like a perfectly crafted figurine.

“Mm… this structure… so it uses the inverse logic of 'fluid solidification'…”

Lillian had sunk into full analysis-mode, murmuring to herself.

“For full-body enclosure applications… yes, this would minimize mana interference to an ideal degree… and it conveniently handles the bathroom problem during extended experiments… genuinely practical…”

Her gaze drifted, without quite meaning to, from the jar to the adjacent data report — the one not yet fully verified — and then to the black window, and the deep night beyond.

Finding a volunteer now was obviously impossible. But leaving that critical data unverified meant she absolutely would not be able to sleep. Lillian bit her lower lip. The daring thought was crystallizing inside that straightforward little mind of hers.

The laboratory was sealed.

The only person here was Celia. Her most trusted student.

And while Celia's report was detailed, the living-subject sample pool currently consisted of a single volunteer from the Lower District…

Celia caught the flicker of wavering in her supervisor's eyes. She said nothing. She kept her smile, and waited, with perfect patience, for the seed called curiosity to take root.

“Um — Celia-chan…” Lillian stopped her analysis abruptly, turned to face Celia with the air of someone who has just made a decision — those wide jade eyes full of fond concern, and behind it a barely concealed, guilty restlessness.

“It is getting quite late, isn't it. Shall we stop here for tonight?” She gestured to the magical clock on the wall. The hour hand was approaching midnight.

“Look at the time — it's past midnight already. You pulled an all-nighter for the experiment last night, and then you spent all afternoon writing up all that data for me. I'd feel terrible if you wore yourself out.” Lillian stood and crossed to Celia, giving her shoulder a gentle push, voice soft as someone coaxing a child to bed.

“Here's what I suggest — you've already satisfied every standard course requirement with full marks, so attendance really isn't a concern. Tomorrow, sleep in properly. And when you've rested and recovered, come find me, and we'll continue the spatial ring follow-up then. How does that sound?”

What a considerate, warm supervisor she was. Any normal student would have been moved to grateful tears and gone obediently to bed.

But Celia was not a normal student. She caught, with precision, the slight urgency in Lillian's voice — and the evasive flicker in her eyes that very much wanted a certain person to leave.

[Oh, how interesting. The woman who normally chains me to the lab bench for all-nighters when she gets absorbed in something… is actively sending me to bed tonight?]

[So the little devil called 'curiosity' has completely taken up residence in that innocent head of yours❤~.]

Looking at this hopelessly guileless little creature who was working so hard to construct an excuse for solitude, Celia could barely contain her delight.

[Too adorable. You want to get rid of me… so you can sneak into that suit by yourself and run some shameful little experiment in private, is that it?]

[How could I possibly spoil that for you? If I don't give you your space… this whole beautiful play falls apart before the second act.]

“You're right, Supervisor — I am starting to feel a bit tired.” Celia “obligingly” rose to her feet, following Lillian's lead without resistance, and even produced a small, well-timed yawn. The picture of a good, docile student.

“I'll head back and rest, then. Please don't stay too late yourself, Supervisor.”

“Yes, yes! Off you go, off you go!” Lillian nodded with the emphatic energy of a child trying to hide something.

Celia gathered her robe, pulled it around her shoulders, and walked out of the laboratory. The moment that heavy wooden door closed behind her, every trace of compliance dissolved from her face, replaced by a slow, predatory smile.

[Who said I need to be in the room to watch?]

She was the Empire's acknowledged A-rank all-discipline Magus. Her magical apparatus work couldn't touch Lillian's Tier-Zero expertise — but in other, more esoteric disciplines? [High-Order Clairvoyance]. [Remote Perception Link]. Against a researcher with no situational awareness whatsoever, deploying these was less a contest than a total demolition.en, and the scent of her supervisor still lingered in her nose.

She was ready. Tonight, this laboratory was not going to remain a place of scholarship.

“Supervisor — about that 'oscillation data' from earlier…” Celia leaned forward slightly, her silver hair spilling down, the ends just barely grazing Lillian's arm. “I think… perhaps we should verify it with something more hands-on, don't you?”

“More hands-on?” Lillian looked up from the data pile, expression lost.

“Exactly…” Celia's fingers came to rest on the cover of the Spatial Folding Ring experiment report, her fingertips pressing precisely on the designation Mare-01.

[Something like… having Supervisor experience it firsthand~!] she thought, while darker schemes were already assembling themselves in the lower levels of her mind.

After the awkward and strangely charged pantyhose episode, the atmosphere in the laboratory seemed to have settled back into something resembling academic normalcy. Celia sat beside Lillian, legs crossed elegantly. The tights — carrying that ghost of her supervisor's warmth — clung to her thighs, the buried seam a constant, intimate reminder of her bare state beneath.

“Oh, that's right, Supervisor.”

Celia spoke as though something had just occurred to her. Her slender fingers dipped into the air — into her personal dimensional storage — and withdrew a neat, stoppered glass jar. Inside: roughly 500 millilitres of black liquid, moving with an unhurried, self-contained flow. Not as thin as water, not as glutinous as ordinary adhesive. It had the quality of mercury — a certain high-order lustre, as though it were alive.

“What's this?” Lillian leaned in with immediate curiosity, pushing her thick-framed glasses up her nose.

“This is the specialized test suit I mentioned in the report — the one worn by volunteer 'Mare-01.'”

Celia set the glass jar on the desk, her tone carrying the quiet pride of an apprentice presenting a finished work — and beneath it, a very carefully buried anticipation.

“It's my own improvement on the commercially available 'Magical Latex Compound' — I've taken to calling it the [High-Breathability Self-Cleansing Magical Latex].”

She offered the jar to Lillian, who accepted it with both hands and brought it close for careful examination. Behind the thick lenses, those pretty eyes narrowed — methodical, precise, studying the black latex within.

[Ahh… she looks so adorable when she's being serious. She's an airhead about everything else, but when she has a magical apparatus in her hands, that look of total focus…] Celia watched her. [It makes me want to ruin her. I want to watch her sink into it. Watch her drown in it.]

She meant the admiration genuinely. In the field of magical apparatus, Lillian's expertise was of a depth that even Celia — acknowledged genius — found herself occasionally struggling to match. This woman who looked like an overgrown schoolgirl was, in terms of raw magical engineering talent, a genius among geniuses. And that combination — extraordinary brilliance, complete social obliviousness, that gentle, undefended quality — provoked in Celia something possessive and destructive in equal measure. The urge to claim her. To corrupt her. To drag her down into the same abyss of want that Celia herself had long since fallen into.

She was running out of reasons not to.

A few minutes later. The Premier Scholar's luxury single dormitory.

Whoosh —

The moment she was through the door, Celia shed her expensive silk robe onto the floor without ceremony — followed by her Academy uniform jacket, the short skirt, the white shirt beneath. That flawless petal-pink body met the open air once again.

This time, though, she wasn't entirely bare. Her legs were still encased in the tights she'd “borrowed” from her supervisor, carrying that faint trace of warmth and scent. The taut black fabric bit into the tops of her thighs, sinking deep between her full lips, mapping out a brazen camel toe.

“Heh heh… curtain up❤~.”

Celia threw herself onto the soft bed and curled into the covers like a lazy cat. She raised one hand and traced a complex rune through the air.

[Remote Clairvoyance · Visual Link · Activate]

A scrying mirror unfolded in the air before her — visible to her eyes alone.

Inside it: Laboratory 302, which should have been empty.

…

In the image, Lillian — having confirmed that Celia had truly left — did not immediately begin her experiment.

This ordinarily distracted supervisor was displaying an uncommon carefulness. She pattered on short legs to the door, pressed herself against it and listened, and only when she was sure the corridor held no footsteps did she turn the lock with deliberate care.

Then she crossed to the window and swept the heavy curtains open with a sharp pull.

That small 145 cm silhouette rose to tiptoe, both hands braced on the windowsill, a small chestnut head craning out to peer in the direction of Celia's dormitory for a long moment — until a light turned on and then off again over there (a performance Celia had staged for exactly this purpose) — and Lillian exhaled with visible relief and patted her own chest.

“There… good. Let's begin.”

She pulled her head back inside, drew the curtains, and added a [Isolation Boundary Spell] for good measure — though this particular barrier was not, of course, able to stop a clairvoyance mark that had already been placed before she thought to cast it.

She murmured something to herself, then turned and walked toward the folding screen in the laboratory's corner — the one kept for rest breaks and changing.

Through the omnipresent eye of the clairvoyance link, Celia held her breath, her hands fisting silently in the bedsheets beneath her.

[Here it comes… here it comes!]

Behind the screen, that small figure began to undress, slowly and with care. First, the white lab coat — a bit dingy at the cuffs — lifted off and hung over a nearby rack.

Then the oversized cream knit sweater. As Lillian raised her arms and peeled it over her head, the white cotton underlayer beneath came into view.

And with the outer layer gone, a detail was revealed that sent a sharp pulse of heat through Celia's bloodstream. Beneath that white fabric, Lillian's chest — two small points, visibly, unmistakably pressing against the cloth. Rising and falling with each breath.

[As I thought!] From her nest in the bed, Celia clamped her thighs together with barely suppressed excitement.

[No bra either?! Abandoning underwear for comfort was one thing — but she can't even be bothered with a bra?! This is… this is entirely too much to my liking❤!]

The contrast was intoxicating — the perfectly proper supervisor, the distinguished academic authority, going entirely bare under her clothes out of sheer laziness and preference for comfort. It was more affecting than any succubus who flaunted it deliberately.

Then Lillian's hands moved to her waist.

Shhhhh…

The zipper on the navy-brown long skirt was drawn open, and the skirt slid down the curve of that remarkable bottom, pooling at her ankles. Lillian stepped out of it.

She stood now in only the white fitted undershirt — nipples visibly peaked against the fabric — and a pair of thick black tights hugging her plush bottom and full thighs.

Without the skirt to conceal it, what Celia had only glimpsed before was now fully, unambiguously on display.

The black tights clung to Lillian's body and mapped everything — the wide, generously curved pelvis, the soft inner thighs pressing together. And at that most private triangle, the deep black valley the seam had carved between her lips was simply there, presented to the open air without ceremony.

Even more: the fabric in that exact location was visibly, measurably darker than the surrounding weave — soaked through with perspiration and something else, the evidence of hours of warmth and pressure.

“Mm, is Celia-chan's latex really as remarkable as she says?”

In the scrying image, Lillian had no idea she was being broadcast live. She murmured to herself and picked up the glass jar filled with black liquid.

“Just pour it on, and it becomes a suit by itself?”

She turned the jar over in her hands with some hesitation, then looked down at herself.

“I suppose I'll need to take the rest off…”

A faint colour came into Lillian's face. Even alone, the prospect of being fully undressed carried its own specific flavour of embarrassment. But the researcher's instinct was stronger — curiosity about an unknown magical apparatus always was.

“It's not as though… it's not as though anyone is watching…” She steeled herself, gripped the hem of her white undergarment, and began to draw it upward.

In that moment, Celia felt her heartbeat in her throat. She watched the scrying mirror with total, suspended attention. Between her thighs, the borrowed tights pulled tight against her, and the friction of the fabric against her swollen clit sent electric sparks crackling up her spine in slow, steady waves.

[Come on, take it off! Take it all off!! Let me see… Supervisor's body❤!]

“Ha~…” With the last garment pooled on the floor, Lillian had stripped herself entirely bare.

That small, 145 cm frame glowed in the light of the magic lamp with the warm lustre of ivory. The chest was only a modest A+ — a gentle swell, nothing more — but the curve from waist to hip was unexpectedly arresting: a slender waist that opened suddenly into full, round hips, a bottom dense with soft flesh, and thighs that years of sitting had given a slight, yielding plumpness — not an ounce of excess, just the soft subcutaneous fat of a young woman's body.

She stood before the mirror, cheeks flushed.

Scientific self-sacrifice was hardly new to her. But this particular project carried a weight that was anything but ordinary.

The [Spatial Folding Ring] — an invention with the potential to reshape the Empire's strategic landscape entirely. Precious materials that currently required bulky, specially enchanted thermal containers to transport — still-beating dragon hearts, living-active spirit blood — lost half their mana to even moderate vibration in transit. But if a spatial ring capable of preserving living tissue were to enter production, it would be a revolution: military logistics, civilian trade, research transport — all of it transformed.

For Lillian herself, fame and recognition were beside the point. But for her students — especially for Celia, her lead researcher — the credit attached to this work could catapult her from her current unfinished “Apprentice Baron” title directly past several rungs of the peerage. She might leave the Academy with a Viscountcy. Possibly higher. The Royal Magical Apparatus Bureau's doors, thrown open.

“For the sake of my students' futures… a little embarrassment is nothing!” Lillian braced herself, jaw set, and closed her hand around the glass jar.

“Mm, I suppose I just pour it over my chest?” She drew a deep breath, uncapped the jar, aimed it at her gently rising and falling chest, and tilted.

“Glug… splaaaaash~~!” The cold black liquid poured out and landed against her warm skin.

“Oh! That's cold…” A small startled sound escaped her.

But the chill was already shifting — rapidly, strangely — into warmth. The internal spell array, triggered by body heat, stirred to life. What had been an inert black liquid seemed now to wake up, and began spreading across her pale skin with eager, deliberate purpose.

Like conscious black tendrils, following gravity and then exceeding it — covering those small, neat breasts in seconds, then branching: some crawling upward across her collarbones and shoulders, the rest flowing down across her flat belly toward her waist and hips.

To help the suit seat itself properly, Lillian made herself hold a deeply mortifying spread-eagle stance.

Both arms out to the sides, fingers splayed wide. Both plush thighs parted, exposing the clean, pale triangle of her groin. Even her toes spread, like a doll caught mid-pose.

“Zzzt… squelch…”

The black latex swept across her limbs, filling every gap between fingers, wrapping every joint in seamless perfection.

And then came the critical development — between her thighs. When the liquid reached that private, unguarded territory, it did not simply coat the surface as ordinary latex would.

“Mm?! It — it's going inside?!” Lillian stared downward in astonishment. The liquid had found its way in — like small, purposeful creatures locating a burrow — pressing a short distance into her entrance, her urethra, her ass.

“Shhhhp~… pop…”

A strange, adherent sensation. Not intrusion — more like a total vacuum seal. The latex advanced two or three centimetres and then stopped, locking itself against the delicate mucosa of the inner walls. As it solidified, the result was something that made Lillian's face go scarlet.

Between her thighs, now shone black and glossy, the shape of her sex was rendered in perfect detail — the contours of both lips clearly defined, even the small rise of her clit visible beneath its hood as a subtle, distinct bead.

And the three openings — entrance, urethra, ass — that should have been closed, now presented as three inward-concave, dark apertures, three deep black hollows in the latex surface.

They looked like three receptacles waiting to be filled. But looking in, there was only darkness — and two or three centimetres down, a sealed floor.

“This… this is…” Lillian looked down at herself, and the colour in her face was nearly violent.

“Is it because the volunteer was taller than me… so the excess latex had nowhere to go but inward?” The guileless supervisor, once again, produced a perfect innocent explanation for Celia's deliberate design.

In reality, of course: this was the carefully neutered version.

The full-strength formulation — the one Celia used on herself — would have surged in without hesitation: filling the vaginal canal to the cervix, forming a thin membrane along the uterine wall; occupying the urethra completely; packing the bowels until the whole body became a latex organism capable of nothing but sensation.

But Celia had adjusted the parameters specifically for this application. She could not afford to frighten the rabbit. This “just a taste” inward-seal design preserved the shame and sensitivity of having something inside — the awareness of being penetrated, the heightened nerve response — without triggering the alarm bells of something that felt like an implement of torture.

A few minutes later, the black liquid ceased its movement entirely and cured into a layer of matte black — impossibly thin, fully breathable, perfectly opaque.

The figure now standing before the mirror was not the same person who had been wearing an oversized sweater an hour ago.

Lillian looked like something crafted by a master artisan — a 1:1 collectible figure rendered with exquisite facial detail and a high-gloss black skin. The suit traced every surface of her body in faithful, intimate relief: the gentle swell of each breast, the inward curve of the waist, the flare of those round hips. Even the small hollow of her navel was visible.

She was covered from the neck down, without a centimetre of skin showing — and yet, the visual effect was a hundred times more obscene than simple nakedness. The full-body enclosure said: every curve is here, mapped and displayed, and nothing is hidden.

“Ha~, it's quite snug, but the feeling is surprisingly… comfortable.” Lillian flexed her hands, shifted her weight from foot to foot. The suit stretched and snapped back with her movements without restriction.

Better than that: the inward-adhering design meant that every step, every shift of weight, sent the latex inserts pressing gently against her most sensitive interior points — a faint, pervasive, inescapable tingling, present in every movement like a low note that never stopped.

“Gulp~.”

Looking at this strange and compelling reflection — herself, and not herself — Lillian swallowed, quietly, for no reason she could name. And somewhere in the back of her mind, a small, specific, rather intense curiosity had begun to take shape — directed at the portion of the experimental protocol that involved suspending the volunteer.

“Well then… let's begin.” She said it to herself, silently, internally.

Up in the top-floor dormitory, burrowed into her blankets, watching every second of this through her scrying mirror, Celia was so excited she had nearly torn the crotch seam out of those borrowed tights entirely.

[AAAAHH! Supervisor! You absolute gift!! A latex loli… that camel toe… that little concave pussy… perfect! I want to put a collar and leash on you and take you for walks! And remove your limbs~! Fill every one of those criminally tempting holes with toys❤! Then string this little loli onahole body up and — heh heh… heh heh heh❤~! I wonder if you can do what I do… in that helpless suspension… squirt out the most delicious slick~~!]

“Ahem, gulp~.” Celia wiped her mouth without any dignity whatsoever and forcibly dragged herself back from the extensive mental catalogue of ways to suspend and torment her supervisor.

Once rationality reasserted itself, she looked at the scrying image and acknowledged the practical reality: the full package — limb removal, sensory deprivation, suspension — was several steps beyond what Lillian could manage alone tonight.

[She only has herself, and none of my telekinetic assistance. She'll probably just do a basic data comparison — put her hand in, feel the mana flow, take some notes…]

Sure enough, Lillian — despite wearing that extremely obscene black latex suit — had those jade eyes locked in pure, cool focus. She picked up the spatial ring — which looked like an ordinary black hair tie — and slipped it over her left wrist.

As the spatial magic activated, the black ring opened like a portal to another dimension and began unhurriedly swallowing Lillian's latex-encased hand.

Wrist. Forearm. Elbow. Halfway up the upper arm.

Lillian's left arm simply ceased to exist below the midpoint, the cross-section smooth as glass and shimmering with deep blue spatial ripples.

“Mm — mana backflow normal, phantom nerve sensation, no irregularities…” Lillian's right hand flew across the paper, murmuring as she wrote.

Every trace of shyness from the undressing had evaporated. This was a woman in full academic combustion. The latex suit, the concave openings, the camel toe — none of it existed for her. Only the data was real.

[Of course…] Watching this, Celia deflated slightly, her mouth pulling to one side.

[Once Supervisor's research instinct takes over, I could walk in there naked right now, and she'd probably just hand me a quill and ask me to record numbers…]

[Boring. Looks like there's no real entertainment to be had tonight.]

She yawned, reached up toward the scrying rune, ready to dismiss the spell and get some sleep.

And then — the Lillian in the mirror suddenly put down her quill.

Her brow furrowed deeply. She tapped the air in front of her with the feather end of the pen, the expression of someone who has run into something genuinely puzzling.

“Strange…” Lillian's murmur came through the spell link with perfect clarity.

“Why does the synchronization rate between the 'bioelectric feedback' and the 'spatial mana fluctuation' keep coming up 3% short? Could it be individual variance? Mare-01 was non-magical, and I'm a high-order mage…” She pressed the pen barrel against her cheek with a small, troubled sigh.

“I don't think my data alone is sufficient for comparison… I'll have to ask Celia to bring that volunteer back in again tomorrow. I wonder what the appropriate compensation would be for a large-scale experiment of this kind — it is rather demanding work…”

Having reached this conclusion, Lillian decided to wrap up for the night. She set down the quill, reached across with her right hand, and gripped the black ring encircling what remained of her left upper arm.

Standard procedure for retrieval: channel mana to expand the ring slightly, create a physical gap, and draw the arm back through gradually.

For a spatial theory expert of Lillian's calibre, this was foundational knowledge. But the problem was that she currently had only one mobile hand. And her mind was still three percent deep in the data discrepancy. So she did what her hands did when her brain was elsewhere.

She pulled.

Hmmm —!

A subtle spatial resonance sound. The ring, receiving a purely physical tug without any accompanying “expand” command, processed this according to its own internal logic — [Storage complete. Detach from host.]

Click.

The black ring slid cleanly off her arm and into her right hand.

Below her left shoulder, the remaining half of her upper arm hung in open air.

The cross-section still glimmered with that deep blue spatial light, confirming that her lower arm was safe and intact inside the folded pocket dimension.

The problem was the suit.

Zzt zzt zzt…

The [Self-Cleansing Magical Latex]'s adaptive array detected the new exposed surface instantly. To protect the wearer from environmental contamination — or prevent mana leakage, depending on how you read the design brief — the latex coating that had covered the upper arm began to move.

Before Lillian could process what was happening, the black latex flowed across the smooth spatial cross-section like a wound sealing itself, wrapped it completely, and locked.

Lillian now looked, to any observer, like a person who had been born with one arm. Her left arm ended a short distance below the shoulder in a smooth, round, perfectly sealed black latex cap.

“Hm?” Lillian stared. She looked at her empty left shoulder. She looked at the ring in her right hand.

Through the soul-link she could still feel her left arm — clearly, precisely, even wiggling her fingers inside the pocket dimension. But when she tried to press the ring back against the stump, nothing happened. The sealed latex dome blocked the ring's opening completely.

Total physical isolation. The latex — designed with such meticulous care for safety and hygiene — had become an impenetrable wall between her arm and the physical world.

“Ah — what?!” Lillian's composure cracked.

She tried to tear the latex with her right hand. This was, of course, the enhanced-durability modified variant, engineered to withstand high-intensity experimental abrasion. Her fingers found no purchase.

“Cancel — cancel the enchantment!”

She reached for the mana to dissolve the suit.

And then the second, more devastating realization surfaced: Celia, upon leaving, had apparently… possibly… quite probably… forgotten to mention what the [Release Incantation] was.

“Oh no…” Lillian stared at her latex-capped stump, then at the locked laboratory door.

Late night. Alone. Effectively naked — in an extremely obscene enchanted suit. One functional hand. Left arm sealed in a pocket dimension with no retrievable path back.

The emotion that could be roughly translated as “I am so completely done for” finally, belatedly, made its way up to the surface of this brilliant woman's awareness.

In the dormitory upstairs, Celia — who had been thirty seconds from falling asleep — saw what happened in the scrying mirror and launched vertically off the bed.

“What?! That actually just happened?!”

She stared at the image of the one-armed latex loli standing frozen at her desk, and her expression went through several stages before arriving at something between ecstasy and mild structural instability.

[The heavens are helping me. The heavens themselves are helping me. Heh heh~… Supervisor… it looks like tonight… is going to be a very long night for you❤~!]

Lillian stood motionless at the desk, the black spatial ring still in her right hand, the instrument of her current predicament. Those jade eyes had lost their usual sheen, replaced by a very deep, very genuine existential blankness.

As the Empire's foremost magical apparatus researcher, she had handled volatile alchemical bombs, repaired rampaging ancient golems, and once disassembled the legendary Möbius Mechanism Box — a puzzle said to require divine intervention — as a casual exercise.

And yet. The black latex currently bonded to her skin, and the hand residing in a dimension she could no longer physically access, had successfully crashed her brain.

“What… what do I do…” A distinct wobble had entered Lillian's voice.

The practical problems arrived in sequence, each one a hammer blow to the forehead:

First: how to remove the suit. Celia's custom enhanced formulation — the self-cleansing cycle array and physical isolation layer, woven with extraordinary precision. Brute force? That material was rated for high-intensity experimental abrasion. Magical dissolution? Without the release incantation, a forced dissolution could cause the suit to contract — potentially lethally — or trigger a mana backlash that would take out the laboratory wall.

Second: how to get dressed. The original outfit — white underlayer, sweater, long skirt, thick tights, lab coat — every piece required two hands to manage properly. One hand: no buttons. No zippers. And even if she somehow managed it, the suit was a full-coverage design. The black latex high collar would show above the sweater's neckline. The single black latex hand would protrude from the sleeve. The black-encased leg emerging from the skirt hem —

There was no concealing any of it.

Third, and most critical: how to leave the building tomorrow.

Tell people she'd accidentally sealed her hand inside a pocket dimension while testing a magical apparatus?

“That excuse might work on a first-year student… but if the Headmistress saw this — or another professor —” She imagined the scene: a cluster of white-bearded senior faculty encircling her, pointing at her obscene black latex ensemble and her smooth rounded stump, exchanging meaningful glances —

“No no no no NO — that would kill me! That would absolutely be the end of me socially, professionally, in every way that matters!”

Lillian clutched her head and produced a sound of genuine despair.

She could ask for help.

She could go to Celia.

“No — I can't!” She shook her head violently, her twin latex-coated tails swinging with the motion. “Celia-chan just went to get some rest… and letting her see her supervisor in this ridiculous state… what happens to my authority as a senior?!”

Nobody had ever found this particular loli especially authoritative, but Lillian maintained one small internal fortress of dignity as an elder and mentor, and she was not prepared to surrender it.

Besides — walking out of the building at midnight, crossing half the campus in this suit with one arm, and knocking on a dormitory door?

“Absolutely not. Absolutely not. Uwuu…”

An unprecedented catastrophe had settled over this particular hopeless airhead, and she had absolutely no idea that the architect of that catastrophe was watching every second of it from a warm bed upstairs, grinning like a wolf who has just watched a very small rabbit walk directly into a very well-designed trap.

On the other side of campus, in the girls' dormitory.

“Mm… hnn…❤~”

A sweet, strangled moan leaked from beneath the covers.

Celia was curled in her bed like a cat in heat, and the borrowed tights — still carrying that ghost of her supervisor's scent — had been pulled somewhat out of shape by now.

The scrying mirror hovered at the head of the bed, positioned exactly at eye level.

Watching the image of the black latex loli huddled on the floor with her head in her hands, trembling with despair, Celia felt her blood pressure spike somewhere behind her eyes.

“Ahh~, haah~! Lillian-chan… that expression… it's absolutely perfect❤~!”

Her fingers worked frantically through the supervisor-scented fabric, grinding against the absolute wreck of her own cunt beneath.

Squelch… slick…

A surge of fluid from the swollen, blood-flushed folds soaked through the already-overwhelmed fabric in seconds. The tights — thick, barely breathable to begin with — were now slippery and adhesive, clinging to every fold of flesh. Each press of her fingers squeezed out another wave of slick, the sound obscenely, shamefully audible.

“Yes… exactly like that… even more helpless… even more desperate❤~!”

The way she said Lillian-chan now had gone entirely sideways — carrying the intimacy reserved for beloved juniors or close friends, loaded now with transgression, with the specific reverence of someone who has decided a person is theirs to play with. Deeply inappropriate for a student addressing her supervisor. Perfectly suited for the filthy little solo performance currently underway in this dormitory room.

Every moment of struggle in the scrying mirror — Lillian trying to hook one finger into the neck of the suit and finding no gap to work with; trying to force a magical dissolution and getting hit by the rebound so hard she sat down on the floor — each futile attempt landed like a precise injection of whatever drug fed the part of Celia that wanted to watch something small and clever and helpless fail to escape.

“Mm —! I can't — it's so good — haah❤!”

Her breathing had gone ragged, chest heaving, both stiff nipples dragging against the sheets beneath her. Her body arched with the pleasure, long legs clamped together, toes curling hard into the bedding.

“Lillian-chan, I want to appear in front of you right now… watch you cry and beg me… beg me to take it off~! But — but then the game ends~! Mmnn — ❤!!”

At the peak, her hips snapped upward.

Splshhh —!!

A rush of scalding fluid punched straight through the poor abused tights and soaked into the sheets beneath, leaving a wide dark stain.

“Ha~… haah~… ha~~.”

Celia went boneless against the mattress, eyes glazed, watching the scrying mirror through her lashes. A small, satisfied, vicious smile had settled at the corner of her mouth. She lay there completely steeped in this — a depraved one-woman performance with her supervisor's real-time humiliation as the backdrop — savouring a pleasure that was entirely hers and utterly, perfectly twisted.

In the laboratory, Lillian knew none of it. She was alone with the predicament she and her “excellent student” had constructed between them.

“No… I can't just sit here!” She peeled herself off the floor and slapped her right cheek with her right hand.

“I'm a magical apparatus expert. Think. There has to be a way.”

Her gaze dropped to the clothes scattered on the floor.

“I can't get back into everything properly… but at least… at least something to cover myself with.”

She gave up on the underlayer and sweater immediately, and went for the white lab coat. Dressing one-handed was a technical challenge under ordinary circumstances; for someone missing their left arm entirely, it was a different category of problem.

She shoved her right hand into the sleeve, and then began contorting herself — twisting, shrugging, trying to flip the coat up over her opposite shoulder. The latex surface had too much resistance, and her frame was too small, and the coat kept slipping down before it could catch.

After twenty minutes of this, she was panting, and the interior of the suit had begun to generate faint warmth. She paused to appreciate, with genuine if rueful gratitude, that Celia's moisture-wicking system was the only thing standing between her and being slowly steamed alive. Twenty more minutes, and she had finally wrestled the coat into an approximate position over her shoulders.

Except —

“The buttons… I can't do the buttons…”

Single-handed button-fastening was a hell of difficulty. After several attempts, she managed the bottom two. Everything above remained open.

The black latex chest — glossy, perfectly fitted — sat fully exposed through the gap, framed by white coat fabric. The contrast somehow made the slight, neat swell of her chest look considerably more obscene than if she'd simply been uncovered.

And the left sleeve hung empty, swaying faintly with her movements — simultaneously forlorn and absurd.

“The skirt — the skirt —”

The long skirt proved even more catastrophic. Without her left hand, she couldn't manage the side zipper, and the latex was so uniformly frictionless that the skirt kept sliding back down the moment she got it up. She ended up with it approximately hiked to her waist, zipper halfway up, just barely clinging on — functional only in the sense that it was not immediately on the floor.

But the most unsolvable problem was the one she was staring at.

She looked down at her hand. At her feet. The black latex had mapped every finger, every toe, every crease between them with faithful precision — small, neat, visually rather charming.

And absolutely, obviously, unmistakably not human skin tone.

“There's no concealing this!!”

Lillian looked into the mirror at herself — coat hanging open, black latex on display, left sleeve empty, the general impression of someone who had escaped from some kind of experimental facility — and something inside her simply gave out.

This was a hundred times harder to explain than being found completely naked.

“Am I really going to have to spend the night like this…” She looked around the laboratory. Cold floors. Hard surfaces. The narrow old sofa. And more pressingly: she was in a state that could best be described as sealed. The suit was breathable, technically — but the constant, total, enveloping pressure of it was working on her in ways that were difficult to name. A slow erosion of something.

Especially the three inward-concave openings between her thighs — the awareness of them had been growing steadily more present, more insistent with every passing minute. A persistent reminder: until someone says the release incantation, this is what you are now. Encased. Held.

“Celia-chan… please help me…” Lillian retreated into the corner of the sofa, hugged the spatial ring that contained her left arm to her chest, and curled there like a discarded doll, eyes pressing shut.

[To be continued~]

(Incidentally — a little secret: there are actually about three more chapters sitting in the drafts. But because certain impatient readers tend to finish the job around the twenty-thousand-word mark~~, I'm planning to release them over the next few days instead, contingent on bookmark counts. Mmph. That's all.)

Chapter 3

Archived Version

The night had passed. Through the gap in the laboratory's heavy curtains, a few threads of morning light crept in, gilding drifting motes of dust as they floated slowly through the air.

Click. The sound of a lock turning broke the total silence that had held the laboratory all night.

“Good morning, Professor~! I brought you breakfast — fresh out of the cafeteria, straight from the oven…”

Celia pushed the door open and stepped inside, a beautifully woven breakfast basket in hand and a warm, breezy smile on her face — the kind that belonged to spring mornings and uncomplicated people. Today, as always, she was the perfect, flawless Head Student: silver hair combed without a strand out of place, academy robes crisp and immaculate, every fold falling exactly as it should — as if the depraved creature who had been writhing under her covers last night, soaking her sheets while fantasizing about her professor until she gushed, was someone else entirely.

Then her gaze fell on the small figure curled up in the corner of the sofa, and she immediately let out a precisely calibrated gasp. Award-winning performance.

“Oh my — P-Professor?! What happened to you?!”

On that narrow, worn leather sofa, Lillian was huddled into a tight ball, like a small exhausted animal. The buttons of her white coat were done up completely wrong, hanging crookedly off her body; beneath the open collar, a wide expanse of flat chest was visible, encased in black latex — the contrast between white and black was startling to the eye.

The long skirt she wore had only been half-zipped, and even that half had migrated sideways to her hip, exposing the fleshy legs beneath — also sheathed in black latex — along with one bare, latex-coated foot, its toes each individually outlined in the clinging material.

What made the sight most pitiable of all was the empty left sleeve, dangling loose and hollow. She looked like a rag doll that had been subjected to some terrible body modification experiment and then abandoned in a corner.

“C-Celia?!”

At the sound of a familiar voice, Lillian wrenched her head up.

Those green eyes were threaded with red, ringed with deep, dark shadows from a sleepless night spent in grinding anxiety. The moment she saw Celia, she was like a drowning person sighting the last thing to cling to — all her distress and fear erupted at once.

“Celia! Help me! I can't get out! I can't — “

Lillian barely held back tears, though they were already trembling at the edges of her eyes. She lurched forward and fell into Celia's arms, raising her left arm — smooth and limbless, rounded off into a soft ball of a stump — and jabbing it at the damned latex suit still encasing her body.

“My hand — I can't get it out! And I can't take the suit off either! I thought I was going to die of embarrassment — !!”

“Oh no! What — how did this happen?” Celia soothed the trembling little professor in her arms with one hand, while inside she was screaming with laughter.

[Ahahahaha! She's so adorable! This is even better than I imagined — that milky smell mixed with the rubber and latex~~ Absolutely exquisite!]

[Look at that expression… like something thoroughly broken. She must have been so desperate last night. I bet she was calling my name in her head a hundred times.]

Despite the internal champagne-popping celebration, Celia's outward expression remained one of urgent, tender concern. She even produced a handkerchief and dabbed at the corner of Lillian's eyes. “Don't panic, don't panic, Professor — I'll get you out right now! This is a deadlock state from an operational error, yes? It's alright, it's fine.”

She extended her hand, fingertip settling lightly against the smooth black latex seal at Lillian's left shoulder — where her arm simply ended.

“Release formula — 【Melt Down】.”

This was the unlock phrase Celia had written into the enchantment herself. The “key” Lillian had spent all night failing to find.

Hmmm…

With the influx of magical energy, the black latex that had kept Lillian imprisoned all night instantly lost its cohesion. It reverted to thick, smooth liquid, running off Lillian's body in dark rivulets, pooling and flowing all the way back into the empty glass jar sitting on the floor, as though recalled by some deep instinct.

Skin met open air for the first time in hours. The sensation of having been bound so tightly for so long — it simply vanished. Lillian drew a deep, shaking breath. Every pore felt like it was cheering.

Then Celia took the black spatial ring and fed it a practiced flow of magical energy, widening the aperture.

“Bear with me just a moment, Professor. It may tingle.”

“Mm…”

As the ring's mouth expanded, Lillian's left forearm — absent all night — finally re-emerged into the world. It surfaced slowly from the rippling indigo spatial interface, then reattached to her body, whole and undamaged.

The arm had gone entirely numb — not from the spatial pocket itself, where time had been suspended, but from the section of upper arm left exposed all night, compressed by the ring's edge. The entire limb buzzed and prickled. But there was no real injury.

“Haaah… I'm — I'm saved…” Lillian went limp against the sofa, alternately flexing the pins-and-needles hand back to life and gulping down long, shaky breaths, chest heaving with obvious residual panic.

Celia fussed over her like a devoted attendant, setting the wrongly buttoned white coat to rights, then crouching down to zip up the skirt properly. She collected the white blouse, the sweater, and the black sheer stockings from the floor, folded them with neat precision, and set them on the sofa cushion.

And then, just as Lillian's composure had begun to settle — Celia went still.

She looked up. Those ice-blue eyes held a knowing amusement, the gaze of someone who had seen straight through to the bottom of things, fixed directly on Lillian with quiet intensity.

“About that… Professor…” Celia's voice dropped a register, carrying that quality of something deliberately left unsaid.

“The reason you put yourself through all of this last night… it wasn't purely for experimental data, was it?”

“Huh?” Lillian blinked. Her hand, halfway to a bread roll, froze in midair. “Not — not for data? Then what would it be for?”

Celia didn't answer directly. She leaned in a little closer, adopting the tone of someone sharing a delicious secret between close confidantes. “I know it's prohibited here at the Academy, but I've heard that recently, among certain noble circles in the upper districts, and in some of the 'underground clubs' in the lower city… this sort of thing has become quite fashionable.”

“This sort of thing?” Lillian looked entirely baffled. Several invisible question marks seemed to float above her head. “What sort of thing?”

“Well…” Celia paused deliberately, watching Lillian's face.

“Some 'literature' I've come across suggests that a lot of high-ranking mages who deal with intense pressure do this sort of thing quietly, as a release. Things like restraining themselves, or 'hiding' parts of their body… accessing that feeling of helplessness and physical strangeness to achieve a kind of mental unburdening.” Celia watched Lillian's expression drift from confused to slightly glazed, and let her smile deepen. “Could it be that… you're actually one of these 'enthusiasts,' Professor? That you deliberately sent me away last night so you could secretly enjoy this kind of… mm… stress relief?”

“Huh…?” Lillian went completely blank. She understood every individual word. Strung together, they were incomprehensible — like archaic incantations from a dead civilization.

What on earth was this child talking about?

“Celia, what are you saying?” Lillian blinked, the picture of innocence. “The spatial ring's calibration threw an error — I got locked up by my own operational mistake! And the reason I couldn't get the suit off is because I didn't know the phrase. It really isn't any of those things you're describing — 'stress relief,' or whatever.”

Because Celia had been so deliberately oblique — and because Lillian, who had never experienced so much as a romance, let alone anything further, had an absolute blind spot for the existence of that kind of “refined” pastime — the words registered only as faintly strange. She couldn't put her finger on precisely why they were strange.

Watching her professor fumble through denial with that helpless, endearing cluelessness born entirely from ignorance of a world she didn't know existed, Celia was satisfied. Mission accomplished. The seed of curiosity had been planted.

“Ahaha, is that right? So it was a misunderstanding~.” Celia straightened up with a laugh, the suggestive expression dissolving from her face as though it had never been there, replaced seamlessly by that of a well-behaved, sensible student.

“I mean, of course — someone as straightforward as you, Professor, would never have heard of somewhere like the 『Witch's Bondage Tea Party』… I'm sorry, I've been reading too many strange novels lately. My imagination has been running wild.”

“Witch's… Bondage Tea Party?”* Lillian repeated the words slowly, blinking.

Instinct told her it was probably not a respectable establishment. But as a researcher of insatiably curious disposition, encountering terminology she had never come across before, she could not fully suppress the small, irrepressible question mark that surfaced in her mind.

What exactly is that?

Was it some exclusive gathering among highborn young ladies? A place for releasing academic and social strain? Though she herself wasn't a highborn lady, just an ordinary person who happened to enjoy researching magical devices… (In objective fact, she was a scholar of imperial renown. But this quality of modest self-assessment was one of her more charming traits.)

“Anyway, let's stop talking about strange things.” Celia gave Lillian no opening to ask follow-up questions. She redirected with practiced naturalness and flipped open the fragrant breakfast basket.

“Come on, Professor, let's eat first. This is your favourite — cream of mushroom soup and toasted bread.”

“Mm… alright…” Lillian still had a head full of questions, but the smell of warm food, combined with the stomach that had been growling at her for hours, won out. The strange terminology faded to background noise.

She took the spoon and began sipping the soup in small, careful mouthfuls, a look of simple contentment spreading across her face.

But Celia knew: the seed was planted. Now that the question existed inside Lillian's mind, it would surface — unbidden — every time she encountered a related implement, every time she found herself in a similar predicament.

[No rush… take it slow.]

Celia watched the unguarded line of her professor's profile, thoughts already turning over the long game. [Someday… I will take you to see that world yourself. And then you'll understand whether this 'hobby' helps with stress relief or not — my dear Lillian ❤.]

Morning light filtered through the gaps in the laboratory's heavy curtains, carrying a thread of warmth and illuminating the dust motes spinning in the air. Lillian sipped at her cream of mushroom soup, and the heat of it eased some of the fatigue carved into her face by the sleepless night — though the dark circles beneath her green eyes remained pronounced.

“Celia,” she said, setting down her spoon, a faint furrow of concern between her brows, “when I ran the tests myself last night, the synchronization rate between the ring's 'bioelectric feedback' and 'spatial mana fluctuation' kept showing a discrepancy of roughly 3% from the numbers in your report. I wonder if it's an issue of individual variation — my own mana circuits are rather complex, being a Grand Magister, while your test subject in the original report was entirely non-magical. The degree of interference would be completely different.”

Celia sat across from her, a cup of warm tea cradled in both hands, and listened with an expression of easy understanding.

“Don't worry about it, Professor.” Her voice was light and reassuring. “Once you've finished breakfast, we can look at that 3% together. If you think it might be individual variation, I'll go ahead and invite the 'volunteer' back for another session.”

She continued attentively: “In the meantime, why don't you get some rest — go back to your office or your room and sleep for a bit? You've worked your eyes red. Once you're feeling better, you can take your time getting everything organized on the lab side, and then we can go straight into comparative testing this afternoon.”

“Right now? Won't that be imposing on them?” Lillian looked a little guilty.

“Not at all, Professor.” Beneath Celia's smile ran a faint current of private amusement. “That particular 'volunteer'… is very 'dedicated.' And with sufficient compensation, she's willing to cooperate with any kind of 'test' you need.”

Several hours later, when Lillian had finished calibrating the monitoring equipment, set out a fresh stack of recording parchment, and cleaned up the wreckage her midnight experiment had made of the laboratory corner — Celia's own “preparation work” was entering its final, most critical stage.

In the Head Student's private single-occupancy dormitory, Celia stood before her large floor-length mirror, wearing nothing at all. Her flawless figure caught the morning light and gave back ivory.

“First things first… I need to get myself properly 'cleaned up.'” She raised a hand, her fingertips glowing with soft white light.

【Full Body · Painless Hair Removal Spell】

The white light poured outward like quicksilver, flooding across her in an instant. Head, underarms, arms, legs, and the most intimate triangle of all — every fine hair it touched dissolved silently, like frost in sunlight.

Seconds later, the light was gone. The girl in the mirror had skin like the finest silk, without even the suggestion of a pore. Most striking was that bare, smooth triangle — the soft pink lips and the faint swell of her clit exposed without a scrap of cover, radiating a quality of absolute, almost newborn purity.

Celia knew perfectly well what kind of soul lived beneath that “purity.” She turned sideways to the mirror and appreciated the sight.

“Haaah~~ This shape again… I really do look like a shaved sow at the market, waiting to be slaughtered ❤.” She ran her fingers lightly along the inner crease of her thigh, tracing the pink slit — and heat welled up immediately, uncontrolled.

Squelch~… ”Already dripping. What a shameless, filthy body.” The pleasure of her own self-contempt made her pulse quicken. But she didn't linger. The real “packaging” had only just begun.

She moved to her desk. The implements she had prepared for herself were arranged there in neat order.

First, she picked up a transparent hollow tube, roughly thirty centimetres long and five centimetres in diameter. Its outer surface was embossed with a fine spiral texture; the walls were thick and yielding. At the insertion end was a smooth bulbous tip; at the outer end was a round rubber gag designed to fill the mouth completely, its surface moulded with tooth-grooves so that biting down locked it firmly in place.

“Mmm ❤~.” Celia opened her mouth and fed the thick tube slowly inside. Rubber dragged against the walls of her mouth and the base of her tongue, producing a powerful sensation of wrongness, a suggestion of impending suffocation. She forced her throat to relax and pushed the tube deeper, a centimetre at a time.

“Glk~… — ugh! Cough, cough!” The violation made her gag twice, sharply — but quickly, the bulb at the tip caught against the entrance to her esophagus and seated itself. The retaining ring locked behind her back molars, propping her jaw open in a fixed O. The tube pressed down into her throat, bearing against both esophagus and airway, making every breath laboured and loud.

This tube served multiple purposes: as restraint, as a means of receiving liquid food if her hands were unavailable, as respiratory assistance if needed — and, more to the point, as a device for deepening the pleasures of breathplay.

Next, two small silicone nasal plugs with filtered valves. She seated one in each nostril, adjusting the valves to their most restrictive setting — just barely enough airflow to sustain life. Every breath became effortful and elongated, marked by a distinct hiss. A low, constant state of oxygen deprivation — enough to make the mind go slow and hazy, to make the body more pliable.

Then: the stripping of hearing. A pair of custom-enchanted earplugs went deep into her ear canals. Hmmm… In the moment of activation, the outside world — birdsong from the window, a distant bell — ceased entirely.

In its place, something surfaced directly inside her skull: a recording, magically processed, dripping with suggestion. It was her own voice, processed lower and rougher.

【…You are a sow… a lump of meat without limbs… your only value is to be used… to be filled… to be played with until you break…】 【Feel this helplessness… this emptiness… this anticipation… of being filled…】 【Your professor… will put you to good use…】

This was a 【Deep Self-Hypnosis and Erotic Corruption Suggestion】 loop she had recorded in advance. For at least the next seven days, it would cycle inside her head without pause, every hour of the day and night — working alongside the external “conditioning” to steadily erode whatever remained of her rational mind.

Preparations complete, Celia moved to the centre of the room. An open glass jar sat waiting there, filled with her custom-formulated black magical latex.

She drew one deep breath. Then she upended the entire jar over her own head.

Splash —!

Ice-cold black liquid crashed over her scalp and cascaded down her body. The magical latex engaged.

Crackle… squelch…

The fluid moved as if it had life and will — black tendrils writhing, climbing, coating every surface of her smooth skin in frantic rushing waves.

Her head was encased first, like a flowing mask conforming to every contour of her face. The openings at her nose and mouth were left precisely clear, but at the eyes, she had woven in an enchantment that would grant her 【Sight Through Opaque Surfaces】 for exactly one hour per day.

Which meant that for the remaining twenty-three hours, she would exist in absolute darkness, navigating the world by touch alone.

The latex ran downward — neck, collarbones, the upward curve of her chest, the narrow span of her waist, the swell of her hips, the round of her backside…

When it reached her groin, the most obscene transformation occurred. Unlike what had happened when the material encased Lillian, this was the version Celia had designed for herself. The complete version.

Squelch~~ — splurt… Volumes of latex forced their way into her pussy, her urethra, her ass. Like sentient filler, they followed the inner folds and recesses, advancing, expanding, conforming.

Her vaginal canal was packed completely — the latex had shaped itself into a recognizable form, textured and ridged like a real cock, its head pressing firmly against the mouth of her cervix, excess material continuing to spread inward. Her urethra was occupied by a slender thread of latex, producing a soft, persistent sense of blocked pressure, the urge to release with nowhere to go.

The infiltration of her bowel went deepest of all — the material navigated the curve of her rectum and filled it nearly to capacity, forming a solidified, spherical mass deep inside that maintained constant pressure against her most sensitive internal structures.

(An aside: while women lack an anatomically identical equivalent to the male prostate, the Skene's glands — sometimes called the “female prostate” — perform a similar function, and the region surrounding them, overlapping with the G-spot, is correspondingly sensitive.)

“Mm-phh ❤~!” A muffled moan twisted by the throat-tube escaped her, her body trembling slightly from the overwhelming fullness within.

The latex continued downward, wrapping her long legs, pressing into each gap between her toes, finally sealing smooth and complete across the soles of her feet.

A few minutes later, all movement stopped.

In the mirror: a figure of total black, surface gleaming with a deep matte shine.

No hair. No facial features — only three small round openings, the tube in the mouth, the plugs in the nostrils, to prove that the black latex form still breathed and lived.

Every curve of her body was preserved in perfect detail by the second skin. Especially at her groin, where the internal filling created a faint, obscene depression at the seam of her pussy and her ass. She was, now, a perfect specimen: a fully latex-encased, limbless, sense-deprived experimental brood animal.

Celia took stock through sensation alone. The latex fit tightly but wasn't stifling. Breathing was restricted but sustainable. Her mouth, urethra, and rectum were all occupied — producing a relentless undercurrent of wrongness, tinged with low, continuous arousal.

“Good… next step.”

She guided the four spatial rings — black and elastic as rubber bands — to hover toward her by force of will. She raised her right arm first and extended her wrist into the open mouth of one ring.

Hmmm~~… Spatial magic engaged. Her right hand — fingertips, wrist, then all the way to the shoulder joint — simply vanished, swallowed whole into a pocket dimension, leaving the cut-off point shimmering with indigo light.

Then the left arm. Then Celia lifted herself into the air by telekinesis alone, extending her right leg, then her left, into the remaining rings.

Hmmm — hmmm — hmmm — hmmm~~…

Four quiet tremors of spatial displacement.

The figure in the mirror was limbless. Four smooth, rounded black stumps — two at the shoulders, two at the hips — were all that remained. Celia was, in the most literal sense, a human trunk. A gleaming black latex sack of a body, capable of nothing but drifting on telekinesis or being carried by someone else.

Her hands and feet were intact, stored safely in four separate folded dimensions. With the last of her active telekinesis, she guided the four loaded spatial rings into the familiar apple-sized magical alloy lockbox. Click. The box sealed.

She cast a short-range transportation spell. The lockbox containing her dignity and freedom of movement — and its key — dissolved into a thread of light and disappeared from the dormitory.

It reappeared inside a standalone villa registered in Celia's name, not far outside the Academy's gates. The building was empty. No servants, no visitors. Only dust and quiet.

This meant no one could find the key early and “rescue” her ahead of schedule. She had surrendered herself entirely — into the hands of the oblivious, guileless, soon-to-be-experimenting professor, who would have no idea what she was holding.

Celia drifted across the room on her telekinetic field to the corner, where a simple wooden crate sat, lined with dried straw. It was just large enough to lie in. This was the final piece of her disguise — the container appropriate for a “lower city volunteer,” the sort of person who needed the money enough to do anything.

She floated down into the crate, settled herself into position, and lay flat like a piece of cargo. Then she closed down her visual enchantment from the inside.

She was no longer the prodigy witch Celia von Novarian.

She was a living experimental implement, from the lower districts, awaiting the professor's “testing.”

Her meticulously planned seven-day protocol of “comparative experimentation” and “erotic corruption induction” was about to begin in earnest. She had already started looking forward to the expression on Professor Lillian's face when she opened the crate and found the limbless black latex figure waiting inside.

[Come along, Professor~. Please make good use of me, and verify your data~ I'll show you the most 'authentic' experimental results my body has to offer ❤~!]

Click. The lid of the crate settled into place.

Darkness.

Celia lay at the bottom of the straw-scented box, a discarded doll of a figure without limbs to brace herself or move. The posture should have felt precarious. Instead, it settled into something strangely close to peace.

One last step. She reached with the dregs of her telekinetic focus and pulled toward herself the object she had hidden inside the crate: a small iron collar. It looked utterly ordinary, even a little rusted — but its inner surface was set with a high-grade anti-magic stone.

Once clasped, it would seal her enormous reserves of magical power completely, and layer over her body a glamour that would cause any detection spell to read her as a perfectly ordinary, entirely non-magical person. And once locked, it could not be opened by any means until the suppression stone's seven-day active window expired naturally.

For exactly one full week, she would be stripped of everything that made her Celia. Truly reduced — no limbs, no power, dressed in nothing but latex — to something that existed purely to be used.

“Goodbye… Celia von Novarian…” she murmured inwardly.

Telekinesis engaged. Click. The collar snapped shut around her throat. The mechanical lock engaged with a sound that rang through the sealed box.

In the same instant, the sense of power that had lived in her like a second heartbeat vanished without a trace.

She was Mare-01 now.

Knock knock knock.

A series of knocks broke the quiet of the laboratory.

“Professor Lillian? Urgent package for you — sender is Senior Celia.” A young male voice came from beyond the door, one of the Academy's student couriers.

“Ah! Coming, coming!” Lillian set down her quill and trotted over to open the door. A large wooden crate sat on the threshold, looking considerably heavy.

“Thank you so much! You've worked hard~!” After signing for it, she hauled the crate inside with some effort.

“Phew… it's heavy. What on earth is in here?” She circled the crate with open curiosity, then pried the lid open with her wand.

Creak —

As the lid came off, a breath of air escaped — dry hay and the faint ghost of latex.

Lillian peered inside.

And immediately sucked in a sharp breath.

“Wh — wh — what?! This is the 'volunteer'?!”

Lying in the crate was a humanoid figure of total black, without hair, without visible features. Every centimetre of her was sealed beneath that familiar black latex suit — even her eyes were covered, with only three dark orifices left: the mouth and nostrils.

Most startling of all: her limbs. All four of them — gone. Only smooth, rounded stumps remained, each perfectly encased in latex. Resting on her chest was a letter and a precision-looking metal box.

Lillian's hands trembled slightly as she lifted the letter.

To my dearest Professor Lillian:

I am deeply sorry I couldn't deliver her in person. As you can see, the volunteer designated 'Mare-01' is an exceptionally unusual case. She was formerly the scout of a well-regarded lower-city adventuring party — the Azure Falcons — but last month, during the exploration of an ancient ruin, the party triggered a trap enchanted with a particularly vicious 'Flesh Puppet Curse.'

(Attached: Adventurer's Guild casualty registry and certified curse assessment report, copies enclosed.)

Lillian lifted the attached assessment form. The fabrication was flawless. The words printed across it — Party casualty / Single survivor / Severe psychic contamination — made something clench in her chest.

The letter continued:

As the sole survivor, her body escaped intact, but her mind sustained devastating damage (PTSD). Having witnessed her companions transformed into puppets destroyed something fundamental in her. She now experiences an acute physiological aversion to the concept of "existing as a human being." Her current condition is classified as 'dissociative self-objectification' — at a subconscious level, she has come to understand herself as an object, a piece of matter, because only in that role can she escape the crushing weight of survivor's guilt.

Additionally, while the curse itself has been suppressed, residual effects persist in the form of 'sensory overload.' The lightest touch registers to her as something akin to cutting — unless it is converted into sustained, high-intensity, extreme stimulation.

For this reason, the attending physicians and curse-specialists, working in conjunction with the requirements of my spatial ring research, have designed the following 'total-seal intensive stimulation therapy' protocol:

1. Limb removal: To prevent unconscious self-harm during nightmares, and to accommodate the psychological needs of her objectified self-image — allowing her to feel calm.

2. Full latex encasement: To construct an absolute 'sensory cocoon,' insulating her from the human presence that causes her distress.

3. Internal filling and intense stimulation: The most critical component. Only through high-intensity vibration, electrical stimulus, and sustained fullness can her drifting consciousness be 'anchored' to her physical body, suppressing the void-sensation the curse produces.

In simple terms: the more thoroughly you treat her as a 'durable piece of experimental equipment,' and the more intense the stimulation you provide, the safer and more alive she will feel. Please have absolutely no reservations. For her, this is salvation.

I have also placed a continuous week-long 'Sacred Recovery' auto-repair enchantment on her body. Regardless of the intensity of your testing, her body will self-repair in real time. She will not break. So please — for the accuracy of your data, and for this poor adventurer's 'treatment' — use her freely and without hesitation.

As for myself — I need to travel to the lower city to assist with settling the affairs of her fallen companions' families, which is part of our arrangement. I also have to return home briefly for a tedious family gathering, so I likely won't be back at the Academy for several days. But I've prepared a complete set of testing implements for you, along with your favorite pineapple-flavor nutrition paste, which will be delivered to your door each day. Please focus on your research with peace of mind — I look forward to seeing your results!

— Your faithful student, Celia

By the time Lillian finished reading, the knot of anxiety in her chest had loosened somewhat.

“Ah… so that's how it is… No wonder she's packaged so thoroughly…”

She looked at the motionless limbless figure in the crate. Something gentle entered her expression — pity, quietly settling in.

“Poor girl. But if it's for her recovery, and for science — then I have to carry out these tests properly!”

Her attention shifted to the metal box. She opened it. Inside, arranged in neat order, were several implements of distinctly… serious character.

The first thing to meet her eyes was a thick black rod of alarming proportions.

Roughly forty centimetres long, ten centimetres in diameter. Matte black, mirror-smooth surface, made from what felt like some variety of high-density medical-grade soft compound — dense and heavy in the hand.

“This… what does this measure?” Lillian picked it up with some effort, turning it over. It was practically as thick as her forearm.

She reached for the accompanying manual.

Deep-Tissue Mana Conduction Soft Probe (Rectal Specialized)

Purpose: To monitor the passive mana-fluctuation feedback response of deep rectal musculature in the test subject. Requires full insertion. High-frequency vibration mode should be engaged to simulate mana resonance.

“Oh — it's for measuring rectal muscle tissue…” Lillian nodded, understanding dawning. “No wonder it's so large. The rectum really is one of the more mana-sensitive regions for absorption.”

The probe's surface bore no anatomical detailing, no textured ridges, no suggestions of anything other than a straightforward black cylinder. Unencumbered by context, Lillian took it at precisely its face value.

Next, she picked up the somewhat slimmer rod beside it. Thirty centimetres, eight centimetres across, with a cluster of bright metal contact points at the tip that resembled electrodes.

Internal Organ Bioelectric Stimulator (Reproductive Canal Specialized)

Purpose: For deep insertion into the test subject's reproductive canal (to the vicinity of the cervical os), applying low bioelectric current to stimulate the organ and monitor mana rejection response.

“Mm~, so this one goes in the front…” Lillian went faintly pink. “Even if it's for science and treatment… this electrode rod looks quite powerful… The poor girl really is going through a lot.”

Finally, the box held three delicate metal rings. They had the look of decorative jewellery — if that jewellery had been lined on the interior with dense arrays of fine electrode pins.

Neural Terminal Sensitivity Test Rings

Purpose: Applied to the areas of highest nerve density on the test subject's body surface (e.g., nipples, clitoris). Continuous micro-current stimulation and vibration used to collect nerve conduction data.

Surveying this complete and thoroughly “professional” suite of implements, Lillian felt genuine admiration well up.

“Celia really did prepare so thoroughly — she even accounted for details like this!”

Entirely unaware that what she was looking at was a vibrator, an electro stimulation rod, and a set of nipple-clitoris clamps, Lillian's heart swelled with the solemn purity of scientific devotion.

At that precise moment, another knock came at the door.

“Professor Lillian! Your daily nutrition delivery!”

She opened the door and received a neatly packaged elongated box. Inside was a high-end-looking cylindrical soft tube printed with cheerful little pineapples.

“So this is the special nutrition paste Celia mentioned?”

Lillian examined it. The tube's design was peculiar — no cap, only a soft nipple-shaped opening at one end. The body was thick enough that actually extracting the contents required gripping it with the whole palm, squeezing firmly, and drawing from the mouthpiece with sustained suction.

“Mm, that's an unusual design…” Lillian experimentally closed her lips around the mouthpiece and gave the body a firm squeeze.

Slurp~.

A warm, viscous, intensely pineapple-sweet semi-liquid was drawn into her mouth.

“Oh?! That's actually good!”

Her eyes lit up. There was, admittedly, a faint undertone in the aftertaste — something vaguely oceanic — but the thick fruitiness and considerable sweetness conquered her palate so thoroughly that she filed the faint briny note under “nutritional supplement aftertaste.” She had eaten worse. The protein paste she'd once subsisted on during a particularly relentless stretch of experiments, trapped at the lab bench too absorbed to leave, had nearly made her gag on the first mouthful.

“Delicious! Celia really is so thoughtful!”

Blissfully ignorant of what she had just ingested, Lillian kept the tube happily clamped between her lips, drawing at it with little-kid enthusiasm, and turned back to survey the black limbless figure waiting in the crate.

“Right — fed and energized. Time to get to work!”

She set down the half-finished tube, walked to the crate, and rolled up her sleeves.

“Now then… Miss Mare-01 — for convenience during the trial period, I'll call you 'Number 01.' We're going to begin the first 'acclimatization test.'”

She picked up the arm-thick Rectal Probe and the three Sensitivity Test Rings, and let a careful, focused expression settle onto her face.

“We'll start with the neural terminal sensitivity assessment.”

In the crate, Celia couldn't see. But through the thin layer of latex, she could feel — with exquisite clarity — the warmth of her professor's approaching presence, and the faint vibrations of metal implements being handled nearby.

[Come on, Lillian~! Take those thick things… and put them all inside me!!]

[I'm already… so impatient to become your personal toy ❤~~!]

The laboratory doors and windows were sealed. The heavy curtains banished the daylight completely. The mana-lamps cast their steady, even white glow across everything.

Lillian stood beside the crate, looking down at the unmoving black figure inside. She had read all the documentation — but actually bringing these cold metal instruments and thick rubber implements to bear on a living person, that was another matter. Her stomach was tight.

“Okay. This is for science. And more importantly, it's to pull her back from the edge of that malicious curse.” She took a slow, deliberate breath. “I can do this.”

“Besides — Celia said it in her letter. This girl is currently suffering under a dual torment of 'sensory overload' and 'dissociative self-objectification.' Ordinary comfort isn't just ineffective — it would actively harm her. Only this kind of extreme stimulation, pushed past what should be bearable, can anchor her drifting mind back to her body and suppress the curse's void-effect…”

Lillian looked at the black figure in the crate, and the last thread of hesitation about using such forceful methods dissolved.

“That's right. Showing mercy now would be cruelty. The only way to truly help her is to commit fully to the objectification therapy — to use her as the experimental instrument she needs to be. That's what's best for her. I have to be professional.”

She took up the three Neural Terminal Sensitivity Test Rings. The fine silver contact points lining their interior gleamed. Precise. Slightly ominous.

“According to the documentation… they need to be placed at the areas of highest nerve density…”

Lillian's gaze travelled over Celia's body and settled — with a faint blush — on the two spots where the black latex clung to small, faintly raised nipples, and on the shape visible at the groin, unmistakable even through the suit.

“The location is a little… embarrassing, but these really are the most nerve-rich sites on the body. I'm sorry — I'll be imposing on your modesty.”

Face warm, she reached out. Her fingertips met black latex — cool and smooth.

In the darkness of the crate, Celia jolted.

With sight gone and hearing drowned in the looping whisper of her own voice, her sense of touch had become extraordinary. Her professor's warm hand moving across her chest through the latex — that sensation hit like electricity, spreading outward through every nerve.

[Ah~, there she is. Lillian's hands… so soft~.]

[The voice in my head is so loud ♥~ — yes yes, 'I am a sow'… 'I am a useless lump of meat'… yes ♥~! Hurry! Hurry up and use me… hhh~!!]

Lillian didn't register the shudder beneath her hands as anything other than a sick patient's involuntary flinch of fear. She kept her touch gentle, pinching the left latex-covered nipple between careful fingers and working the metal ring slowly into position.

Click. The ring contracted automatically, gripping tight around the base. The interior electrode pins pressed through the latex surface and seated themselves flush against the sensitive flesh beneath.

“Mf!” Celia's whole body went rigid. The deep-throat tube in her mouth produced a strangled gllk.

The right side followed.

And finally, Lillian's hand moved to the groin. Without legs to obstruct, the smooth, bare mound was fully exposed. With a slightly shy hand, she parted the latex-sheathed labia, located the small bead sheltered between them, and eased the smallest ring into place.

“Done. All three seated. Next — activation test.”

Lillian picked up her clipboard and pressed Level 1: Micro-Current Wake on the rings' remote.

Zzzt…

All three rings discharged simultaneously — subtle, high-frequency current.

“Hyiii —!!”

Celia's body convulsed like a fish struck by lightning. Not pain — direct, unmediated pleasure, firing straight from the nerve terminals into her brain. The current through her nipples and clit punched clean through the defences of a body that had been conditioning itself into hypersensitivity all morning.

“Gllllmmm——!!!”

A muffled, desperate, filthy wail escaped around the tube filling her throat. Her chest heaved. The limbless black torso writhed in the dry straw of the wooden crate, thrashing like a dark serpent in its last moments.

“Ah! Such a strong reaction?!”

Lillian startled, and immediately checked the mana monitoring instrument in her hand.

The readings were going haywire.

Neural Feedback: EXTREMEDopamine Output: SURGEMana Circuit Activity: +200%

“Incredible…” Lillian's eyes went wide. “Just Level 1 current and the response is this pronounced… She has no mana of her own, and yet her internal mana circuits are this active! Celia was right — her mind really is in a state of explosive release after prolonged suppression. This intensive stimulation is working!”

Having comprehensively misread Celia's reaction, Lillian's remaining hesitation dissolved almost entirely. If the “treatment” was effective, then by all means — continue.

She picked up the Rectal Probe — the arm-thick, ten-centimetre, dead-weight black cylinder.

“Next up… deep tissue assessment.” Lillian looked at Celia's still-trembling body with mild uncertainty. “It's so thick… will it actually fit?”

She consulted the manual. Note: Apply a sufficient quantity of therapeutic lubricant before use, and engage vibration mode to assist insertion.

“Of course — topical preparation first.”

She rummaged through the case Celia had left and produced a large jar labelled Medical-Grade High-Polymer Mana Conduction Gel — which was, in point of fact, an exceptionally viscous premium lubricant. She scooped a generous handful and spread it evenly along the length of the black probe until it gleamed, slick and shining.

Then she moved to the foot end of the crate.

“Miss Number 01 — this may feel a bit full. Please bear with it.” Lillian said gently, regardless of whether the other could hear her.

She placed one hand on Celia's smooth black latex backside and lined the probe's rounded tip up with the latex-sunken dimple of her ass.

Hmmm — Lillian pressed the switch at the base of the probe, engaging Vibration-Assist Mode. The thick black rod immediately began to emit a low, resonant hum that made Lillian's palm go numb.

“Here we go…” Lillian pushed.

Splurch. The lubricated probe head forced past the clenched ring of muscle. The deep layer of latex inside acted as a buffer, translating what might have been tearing into something else entirely — an overwhelming, blunt, inescapable sense of being pried open.

“Gllk——!!!” Celia's head wrenched back. The tendons in her neck stood out sharply. Behind the latex seal, her eyes went wide and staring.

Too thick. It was genuinely, terrifyingly too thick.

This wasn't merely a sense of wrongness — it was the vertiginous, visceral sensation of being packed so full that her organs had nowhere to go. The vibrating probe worked like a merciless piston, boring steadily, unyieldingly, into depths that had never been opened like this before.

“Almost there — ggh~! The muscular resistance here is considerable…” Lillian was frowning, both hands gripping the base of the probe, leaning her body weight into the push.

Squelch~! Squelch~!

Accompanied by sounds that would have made anyone else in the room go scarlet, the forty-centimetre implement was swallowed into Celia's body, centimetre by centimetre.

With each increment of depth, Celia's stomach visibly distended. The probe ploughed through her intestinal walls without mercy, grinding across every fold, and the terror of being filled beyond capacity tangled inextricably with a pleasure that was almost rupturing her consciousness.

[Ahhhh——!! I can't — my stomach — it's going to burst — Lillian is so rough — I didn't expect her to be this rough — something this thick, all the way — ohhhh ohhhh ohhhh ♥ — so this is what it feels like to be used by my professor… so happy~~~ my stomach is so full, it's all from her ❤~!!]

Finally, with a grunt of effort from Lillian, the probe sank to its hilt. Only the flat base remained visible.

Celia's lower abdomen was visibly displaced by the intruder — the probe had filled her rectum entirely and pressed on into the sigmoid colon beyond, its vibrating head bearing directly against the posterior wall of her uterus and every sensitive structure in the vicinity.

“Phew — there!” Lillian wiped the sweat from her brow, surveyed the fully-seated probe, and gave a satisfied nod.

“Now… activating data recording mode.”

She picked up the remote and adjusted the probe's vibration frequency to Level 3: Mana Resonance Wave (Mid-Frequency Vibration).

Hmmmmmmm——!!!!

In an instant, it felt to Celia as though a motor had been installed directly in her abdominal cavity and set to full power. The vibration conducted through her intestinal walls and into her skeleton. Her teeth chattered.

“Hyiii hyiii hyiii——!!!” She could no longer maintain any semblance of stillness. The limbless black torso bounced and rolled frantically against the walls of the crate, like a live fish flung onto dry land.

On Lillian's monitoring instrument, lines of data scrolled at speed:

Rectal Muscle Tension: MAXMana Conduction Rate: 98% (Excellent)Subject Mental State: Chaotic / Extreme Arousal

“Magnificent! This data is absolutely perfect!” Lillian was beaming with the unguarded excitement of a dedicated academic in front of extraordinary results. “The treatment protocol really is working! Her mana circuits are being activated at a rate we've never seen before!”

“Let's hold at this intensity and continue testing for another twenty minutes!”

The earnest professor had no idea whatsoever that what she was reading as “perfect data” was the charted testimony of her star student currently undergoing a full rectal climax. And there in the dark of the wooden crate, a scent was quietly building — sweat and lubricant and the involuntary release of a bladder with nowhere left to hold, and the slick overflow of arousal soaked up and re-breathed by the latex — composing, in silence, the overture to a descent.

“Mm, she's struggling quite a lot…” Lillian watched the frantically writhing black figure in the crate, a faint crease of unease at her brow.

Celia's condition did look, from the outside, somewhat alarming. The thick probe was churning through her at high-frequency vibration, each pulse threatening to shake her very soul loose. Her smooth, rounded shoulder-stumps and hip-stumps thudded rhythmically against the crate walls. From the deep-throat tube came broken, animal sounds — the whimper of something pushed past the edge.

“Is the treatment intensity perhaps too high…? Celia said this was intensive stimulation therapy, but if this keeps up — what if the muscular strain causes the probe to shift and damage an internal organ?” Lillian, functioning simultaneously as responsible professor and makeshift attending physician, reached a rapid conclusion.

“She needs to calm down.”

She crossed to the laboratory's cold storage cabinet and retrieved several vials.

High-Potency Analgesic (Alchemical Grade): Blocks transmission across the majority of pain-sensing nerves, inducing a floating, euphoric anaesthetic state.

Deep Muscle Relaxant: Causes rapid relaxation of all skeletal musculature, eliminating voluntary movement. Standard pre-surgical sedation for large magical beasts.

“Mix these two together… add a measure of high-concentration glucose for physical support…” Lillian worked with practiced precision — combine, mix, draw up into a slender metal syringe.

She walked back to the crate, syringe in hand. “Easy now, Number 01 — one quick injection and it won't hurt any more.” The tone was one she usually reserved for skittish laboratory animals.

Celia at this point occupied a delirium of pleasure so total it had become its own kind of hell. The vibration inside her made Lillian's words unintelligible — she could only sense, through the blur, the familiar presence drawing close.

Lillian ruled out the neck veins: too close to the brain, dosage control too uncertain, and besides, the collar obscured much of the accessible vasculature there. She had administered sedative injections to plenty of small research animals over the years and had developed decent technique from it. She settled quickly on the optimal site — the femoral vein.

Located deep along the inner upper thigh, below the inguinal ligament. On a typical woman, that point sits a mere two to four centimetres from the edge of the labia — an absolute private territory.

“Sorry — this may sting a little.” Lillian placed one hand on Celia's left thigh-stump, steadying it against its trembling.

That warm hand pressed flush against latex-covered skin at the groin. To locate the vein accurately, Lillian's fingers pressed deep into the soft flesh of the inner thigh — and her fingertips inevitably, incidentally, grazed the edge of the swollen, engorged labia.

“Mh——!” Celia went rigid.

[Professor… what are you doing there — your fingers are so close~~!]

Even through the latex, the shame of having her most private territory touched was vivid and merciless. With the vibrating probe already filling her from behind, this additional intrusion — external pressure at the entrance — sent her cunt clenching involuntarily, expelling a surge of slick heat that the latex absorbed, but whose warmth Lillian registered anyway.

“Found it.” Lillian paid no attention to the moisture. She had located the pulse.

Prick. The cold needle pierced through the black latex membrane and sank into flesh.

“Gllmmm——!!!”

Celia produced a smothered grunt. That sharp, precise pain cut through the overwhelming pleasure with total clarity — a lightning bolt splitting open the static of an overloaded mind.

Lillian depressed the plunger steadily. Cold fluid entered the femoral vein and moved.

The sensation was extraordinary. The medication travelled the bloodstream and spread. Muscles that had been locked in frantic, straining resistance began to soften — visibly, rapidly.

A deep bonelessness rose from somewhere in Celia's marrow and swallowed her like a tide.

First her neck — the head that had been straining back, seeking to scream, fell slack against the hay.

Then her trunk — the spine that had been bow-taut, went limp and settled back against the crate floor.

Finally, the remnants of her thighs — the muscles that had been clenching desperately, as though they could resist the probe by sheer force — let go entirely. The two rounded stumps fell open like dead weight, spilling apart, exposing everything without reservation.

“There we go.” Lillian observed the “calmed” patient with satisfaction, withdrew the needle, and pressed a cotton swab considerately against the injection site.

“The drug acts quickly. This way you won't hurt yourself.”

For Celia, this was a deeper circle of hell.

The muscle relaxant had stolen her ability to struggle, to thrash, to vent. Where she had at least been able to writhe and tense against the probe — finding in her own resistance a fractional buffer against overstimulation — she was now genuinely inert. A passive lump of meat with no options.

She couldn't move. She couldn't so much as squirm. But her sensation had not gone with it — the analgesic had only blunted pain while amplifying every pleasure nerve's sensitivity, and the vibrating rod inside her was still delivering Level 3 intensity directly to her rectum and the posterior wall of her uterus.

Hmmmmmm——!

Pleasure with nowhere to go. Building. Swelling. Nowhere to go.

[Can't move — can't move any more!! Help ♥ — it's so deep — the vibration is so deep — ♥ hyiii hyiii!!]

[Ahhhh——!! I'm breaking — my brain is melting — Professor Lillian — you're so cruel ♥ — you've turned me into a wreck ♥ — ohhhh ohhhh ohhhh —— still vibrating inside me — hiiiii——♥!]

Celia's eyes rolled back. Saliva ran freely from the corners of her mouth along the edge of the throat tube. Her body no longer convulsed in large movements, but beneath the latex, every small muscle group was firing in high-frequency spasm, keeping perfect time with the vibration.

Meanwhile, the guileless Lillian, watching the now-stable “physical movement data” on her monitor, entirely failed to notice that the “neural excitation level” and “dopamine output” were still pegged at maximum.

“Good — the patient has stabilized emotionally.” Lillian pushed her glasses up and picked up the remote again.

“Since she's in such a responsive state… let's move on to the second phase of testing.”

Her gaze moved to the one implement still unused — the Internal Organ Bioelectric Stimulator (Reproductive Canal Specialized) — which is to say, the electrode vibrating rod destined for Celia's cunt.

“Rectal data is holding steady. Let's see how the reproductive canal compares.”

Lillian picked up the thirty-centimetre electrode rod and coated it thoroughly with another generous scoop of lubricant. Then she parted Celia's unresisting thighs — limp and open, unable to close — and aligned the head of the rod with the latex-sheathed opening that was steadily, helplessly leaking.

“Here we go~, Number 01 — just open a little more for me…”

Inside her own skull, Celia was wailing without sound. Her body, meanwhile, lay spread open like the cheapest and most shameless of creatures, unable to do anything but receive whatever her professor chose to give it.

The air in the laboratory seemed to have thickened and stilled. The only sounds: the low, constant hum of the rectal probe, and the faint, fractured breath sounds that leaked around Celia's throat tube.

Lillian held the lubricant-slicked Bioelectric Stimulator in a focused, unhurried grip. In her eyes, the black limbless figure lying splayed open before her was not a girl being subjected to something beyond human endurance — she was a complex, precise dataset, awaiting analysis.

“The muscle relaxant's effect should significantly reduce sphincter resistance.”

She spoke to no one in particular, left hand efficiently parting Celia's swollen latex-encased labia. Because of the inward-sealing design of the suit, the opening that would otherwise be pink and soft was now a black, depthless whorl, from which clear fluid continued to flow in a steady stream, soaking Lillian's fingers.

“Quite a lot of secretion — the glands are very active.” She stirred two clinical fingers through the slick entrance in a matter-of-fact diagnostic assessment — and to Celia, every dispassionate touch was a fresh humiliation edged in exquisite shame.

[Mmm~ — fingers — professor's fingers are inside — hyiii ♥! — so embarrassing~ — flowing like a sow, so much of it, and now she's examining me like this — haaah~~ — don't keep touching there — hurry ♥~ — just give it to me already ♥~.]

Celia silently begged. Her body was a puddle. She couldn't even arch her hips to meet the touch.

“Good — position confirmed.”

Lillian's right hand gripped the thirty-centimetre electrode rod. The cold metal contact points at its tip pressed against the slick, leaking entrance.

[No — not there — not the front — the back is already full — if the front gets it too — I'll die — I'll actually climax to death — hiii ♥ — hhhh hyiii hyiii ♥!!]

Schlick.

No preamble. No coaxing. Buoyed by the confidence of a freshly administered muscle relaxant, Lillian put her wrist into it and drove the thick implement inside in a single committed push.

“Glllmmm——!!!”

Celia's eyes rolled to the ceiling. Her throat produced a wrecked, choked keen. The muscles being relaxed didn't mean the space had gotten any larger.

Her ass was already packed with a ten-centimetre probe, rectum stuffed to capacity, pressing hard against the vaginal wall. Now an eight-centimetre electric vibrating rod was being forced in from the front.

Two massive objects, separated by nothing but the thin shared wall between rectum and vagina, grinding against each other, mutual pressure, mutual friction. The sensation of being filled past any conceivable limit — of being stretched to tearing — disconnected Celia's reason from her body with a clean, silent snap.

“Slightly tight here… but that's fine, a bit more force.” Lillian felt the resistance and frowned mildly. She didn't slow down. She increased the pressure.

Squelch~! Squelch~!

The electrode rod inched deeper to the sound of profoundly undignified wet noise.

With each additional centimetre, the two rods fought each other inside her. The vibration from the rectal probe transmitted through the thin shared wall into the electrode rod in her cunt, producing doubled resonance.

“Hii — hiii hiii ♥——!”

Celia's lower abdomen distended further with visible speed. The outline of the second rod pressed up through the taut skin of her belly. The extremity of being this full produced a delirious, vertiginous certainty — that she had already been broken into something that was only holes, a helpless vessel for whatever her professor decided to put in her.

Finally, — pop — the electrode rod seated completely, its tip striking hard against the delicate cervical os.

“Phew… all the way in.” Lillian wiped the sweat from her brow, looked at the strained and distorted opening, and nodded with satisfaction. “Perfect positioning.”

Celia, front and back both packed without gap or quarter, felt like a filled balloon. Even breathing made her abdomen ache.

But it wasn't over. Lillian picked up the electrode rod's remote.

“And now — bioelectric response testing.” She pressed the switch without hesitation.

Zzzzt——!!

Current. Strong bioelectric current erupted from the metal contact points across the rod's surface — directly stimulating the most sensitive folds of the vaginal wall, and the fragile cervical os pressed against the tip.

[AAAAAHHH——!!!]

If Celia could have screamed, the windows of the building would have shattered. But between the deep-throat tube and the muscle relaxant, all that escaped was a series of rapid, microscopic tremors — a dying fish on the bottom of the crate.

The current was like hundreds of white-hot needles driven into her uterus simultaneously, travelling the neural network out to every extremity. Pain. Numbness. And something beyond either — a pleasure that didn't fit inside the category of human experience, crashing over her in a wave that swallowed everything.

Hmmmm… The rectal probe kept bombing away from behind. Zzzzt… The current in her cunt kept ravaging from within. Click-click… The test rings on her nipples and clit discharged in synchrony.

Three stimuli. Three sources. Tripled and compounding.

Celia's mind went white. Just light — vast, obliterating, white.

“Gkk… ghhhk——!!”

Saliva poured uncontrolled from the corners of her mouth around the throat tube. Eyes rolled all the way back. Beneath the latex, her face had gone fully, helplessly ahegao — the expression of someone completely destroyed and completely, devastatingly happy about it. Her body couldn't move. But her cunt clenched and spasmed in frantic, desperate waves around the electrified rod inside it, as though trying to crush the source of this ruin.

“Oh? A strong uterine contraction response!” Lillian looked at the skyrocketing readings on the monitor without a trace of alarm — if anything, she grew more enthused.

“It seems this electrical stimulation is quite effective at activating uterine activity! In that case… let's increase the output a little more!” She pushed her glasses up and pressed the Level 2 button.

Entirely unaware that she was personally shepherding her most brilliant student into a ruin called a cervical orgasm.

In the sightless dark behind her latex-sealed eyes, the last coherent fragment of Celia's consciousness thought: [Ahhh — I'm broken — I'm really breaking — Lillian — she's so good at this — better than I ever was on my own — I'm a fucktoy — Celia is professor's personal experimental fucktoy — so happy ♥!]

“Hmm… there's not quite enough room to work in the crate.”

Lillian looked at the wildly fluctuating data and pursed her lips with mild dissatisfaction. The wooden crate restricted the volunteer's movement, yes — but it also restricted Lillian's ability to observe the limb-stumps from all angles. And the friction from the crate floor might be introducing imprecision into the mana reflux measurements.

“Oh!” A memory surfaced. Celia's previous report — hadn't the test subject been suspended completely? “In that fully weightless, airborne state, would the limb reactions stored within the spatial rings show any particular variation?”

As a rigorous scholar, Lillian never dismissed a variable.

“Well — better to test it than speculate! Knowledge comes from practice!”

She set down her clipboard, bent at the waist, worked both arms under Celia's limbless torso, and hoisted her out of the damp crate like a very large, very heavy black rubber bolster pillow.

“Hup — she's quite solid.”

Lillian paid no attention to the slick fluids coating Celia's body. As she lifted her, the rectal probe and the vaginal electrode rod inevitably pressed into her chest, and the mixture of Celia's involuntary bladder release and the overflow from her cunt soaked immediately through the white lab coat.

The dense, sharp smell hit her full in the face. Lillian didn't even twitch. Her mind was already occupied with the logistics of suspension.

“Levitation array — activate!”

She murmured the incantation, and four pale-blue mana chains materialized in the air. At their ends, instead of hooks: custom-made mana suction cups, which affixed themselves precisely to Celia's four latex-sealed stumps — both shoulders, both hips.

“Rise.” A gesture. The chains drew taut, their opposite ends anchoring to the four corners of the laboratory ceiling.

Celia was lifted slowly into the air — face-down, spread wide, hovering at the centre of the room in the shape of a starfish. An extraordinarily undignified position.

Without the floor to press against, gravity assumed control of everything. Her chest — flat as it was — was pulled downward by weight, the latex stretching into two dark teardrops. The metal test rings on her nipples flickered with blue electric light; each pulse of current made the sensitive flesh tremble.

Below her, everything was on full display for Lillian. The thick black rectal probe and the electrified vaginal rod had both shifted fractionally downward under gravity, more of their slick-coated shafts now visible — but they were immediately gripped by the clenching of her sphincter and vaginal walls, caught and held, neither in nor out, trembling faintly with every breath she took.

Squelch~~, drip…

Viscous clear fluid — arousal mixed with lubricant — ran along the shafts and fell in slow, crystalline threads, stretching long before they broke and spattered onto the laboratory floor with small, precise sounds.

Patter. Patter.

The image was obscene in the extreme: a hairless, limbless, toy-stuffed black latex fucktoy, hanging in the air like a joint of meat set to dry, steadily leaking, steadily trembling.

In Lillian's eyes, this was simply a perfect observational specimen. She put on a pair of thick safety goggles, took up her quill and clipboard, and circled the suspended figure with the focused attention of someone examining a precision instrument.

“Mm… abdominal pressure does shift in the suspended state, as expected.” She muttered to herself and wrote quickly.

“Degree of nipple engorgement… seems insufficient?” She reached out and poked Celia's left nipple — currently sparking — with complete absence of any ulterior thought.

Zzt! To test the limits of the nerve terminal response, Lillian fed a pulse of mana into the metal ring. The ring contracted immediately, biting hard into the base of the nipple; the current intensity spiked accordingly.

“Mmmhhh——!!!”

Celia shuddered full-body. Her suspended form swung violently in the air, and both rods buried inside her swayed with it, grinding and churning.

“Don't move, don't move — the measurement isn't finished.” Lillian patted Celia's backside absently, the way one might settle a restless puppy.

Then her attention dropped to the bases of the two protruding rods.

“This angle… is it slightly off?” Lillian frowned, reached out, and closed her hand around the base of the rectal probe.

Squelch.

She rotated it firmly, attempting to adjust the probe's orientation within the intestinal cavity so that the vibration point would bear more directly against the rectal wall.

“Mm… this one too.”

The vaginal electrode rod. Lillian gripped it, and — with the straightforward purposefulness of someone reseating a faulty connector — thrust it firmly inward, then drew it back a few strokes, hunting for the optimal position for mana conduction.

[AAAAHHH——!!!] Inside her own skull, Celia produced a scream that could have stripped paint. This — this clinical, sexless, utterly dispassionate thrusting and rotating performed purely as equipment adjustment — was an annihilation of personhood more thorough than anything she had planned for herself.

In her professor's hands, she wasn't a person anymore. She wasn't even a sex slave. She was a data-collection device. A leaking piece of instrumented meat.

“There — the readings are much more stable now.” Lillian checked the monitor and gave a satisfied nod.

She had no idea that what she had just performed was edging play. That guileless, cheerful cruelty — that total indifference to Celia's suffering and pleasure alike — worked on her like a surgeon's gentlest blade, cutting open the shell called “Celia” layer by layer, releasing the most debased animal that had always lived at the centre of her.

In the endless dark, in the unbroken loop of obscene whispered suggestion, Celia's consciousness was in free fall.

[When professor twisted that rod, she was so rough, not a thought for how I felt~! So this is what it's like… to be an object? To be treated as an object… it feels so good!! Ahhhh this is incredible~~ she's going to burn my brain out ❤!!]

Five hours later, the laboratory's mana lamps still cast their tireless white light.

Lillian set down her quill at last, the thick notebook in her hands dense with row upon row of mana equations. She exhaled slowly, crossed to the data storage table, set the precious record book down with care, and immediately seized a fresh blank one.

“Data… I need more data…” The light in her eyes was feverish. She turned to go back.

But as she took her first step, the unpleasant sensation of damp and stickiness finally, belatedly, reached her cerebral cortex.

“Ugh… I'm a mess…” She looked down at herself.

The formerly white lab coat was covered in large patches of dried and half-dried fluid, emitting a rich, sharp-sweet smell. The cream-coloured sweater beneath had soaked through entirely — heavy against her skin, clinging, the white underlayer beneath it rendered nearly transparent. Worst of all was her hair. The tea-brown bob was plastered wet against her cheeks and neck, dripping from the ends. That had been the “artificial rainfall” that Celia, suspended in midair, had inadvertently baptized her with during one of the equipment-position adjustments.

The long skirt below was in even worse condition — the hem a chaotic geography of dark, irregular stains, as though someone had flung dirty water at an abstract painting.

“Oh no, I've gotten completely filthy…” Lillian wrinkled her nose and tugged at the fabric stuck to her skin with faint distaste. “Changing clothes is such a bother… and I don't have any spares here.”

“But I still have experiments to run… if I don't change, the water dripping from my sleeves might get on the new notebook. The corners of the last one are already a little warped…”

And so the Grand Magister found herself trapped in profound crisis.

The irony was considerable. She was not thinking about the poor “volunteer” who had been hanging in midair for five hours. She was not thinking about whether her own body could sustain this pace. The only emergency her exclusively academic brain had registered was: the research notebook might get wet.

While she was weighing whether to use a drying spell — which would leave an even stranger, heavier smell — her gaze drifted idly across the corner of the lab bench.

There sat a transparent glass jar. Inside it: a mass of black, smooth, animate-looking liquid.

The Self-Cleaning Magical Latex that Celia had recovered this morning.

“Oh! That's right!” Lillian clapped her hands together. The perfect solution surfaced from wherever she'd filed it.

“I already know the release phrase — Melt Down — so I don't need to worry about getting stuck!”

“And Celia said the biggest feature of this suit is that it's self-cleaning! Perspiration and body fluids get absorbed and broken down automatically — it stays dry at all times. And most importantly — that smooth latex surface doesn't hold liquid at all! No matter how much experimental run-off splashes on it, it wipes clean instantly!”

It was practically purpose-built for this kind of high-contamination research environment.

Lillian didn't hesitate for a moment. She stripped off every soaked garment in short order and dropped the lot into the laundry basket.

Standing bare in the centre of the laboratory again, she picked up the glass jar with practiced ease and unscrewed the lid.

“This time it's for scientific protection!” She furnished herself with a perfectly adequate justification, tipped her head back, and poured the jar of cold black liquid over herself.

Splash —

The familiar sensation returned. The black latex ran down her body, writhed, and rapidly sealed her small frame.

Crackle… squelch… When the latex reached her groin, the particular “inward-seating protocol” engaged again. Black tendrils slipped along the entrance of her cunt, her urethra, her ass, adhering snugly to the shallow interior walls. This time Lillian didn't startle — she had categorized it as standard procedure, and accepted the shameful intrusion of the foreign presence with relative equanimity.

A few minutes later: a perfectly black, gleaming latex loli, reborn. She flexed her hands and feet experimentally. The clammy discomfort was gone — replaced by a sensation of total dryness and even pressure.

“Wonderful! No need to worry about the notebook now!”

Entirely unaware of how thoroughly criminal she looked — full latex encasement, all three openings filled — Lillian picked up the new record book and prepared to throw herself back into the experiment.

She made it two steps before stopping again.

The suit's default coverage ended at the base of her neck. Her tea-brown hair was still soaking wet, pressed against her face, droplets running down the black latex shoulder and sliding off the smooth surface.

“Mm~, no head coverage…” She touched her drenched hair with a small frown. “My hair's still wet. If water drips into my eyes, it'll affect observation accuracy…”

“I wonder if there's anything in here I could use to cover it — or wrap my head up somehow…”

She scanned the laboratory. Behind her, the suspended Celia — still sightless — would have, if she could have known what her professor was thinking at this moment, screamed with delight inside her own skull. Because nothing would have pleased her more than seeing her professor packaged up exactly like herself, and a loli-sized latex log at that — probably easier to hold, she thought distantly.

“Oh — right!” Lillian's eyes lit up as though she'd just cracked a centuries-old theorem.

“If there's no head-cover… I'll just make one!”

For a T0-ranked magical instrument specialist, the reflex of if you need it, build it was written into her DNA. And conveniently, that clever and thorough Celia had included the core enchantment schematics and mana-theory diagrams for this suit as an open appendix to her report.

Lillian extended her black-sheathed right hand and focused.

“Release — fingertip section.”

With a minor mana adjustment, a thumbnail-sized patch of black latex at her index fingertip liquefied and detached, dropping into a five-litre beaker she'd positioned beneath it.

What followed was the sacred hour of the dedicated tinkerer.

Lillian stood before the lab bench, added alchemical reagents to the beaker with practiced efficiency, wand moving in small economical arcs, complex replication arrays assembled and injected in rapid succession.

“Structural analysis… mana synchronization… self-replication sequence, initiate…”

In just over ten minutes, the single droplet at the bottom of the beaker had expanded like a slime fed growth hormone — bubbling, multiplying, swelling. Five full litres of viscous, smooth, faintly luminous black magical latex filled the beaker to the brim.

“Perfect~. Not bad, if I do say so.” Lillian pushed her glasses up with smug satisfaction.

She didn't pour it immediately. As a severe myope, simply covering her head would leave her blind even with the latex's basic translucency — she'd taken her glasses off.

“Some practical additions first…”

She raised her wand and cast again at the beaker.

“Append — 【Panoramic Transparency Array】.”“Append — 【Advanced Focal Correction Array (Auto-Focus Edition)】.”

With these in place, the latex covering her eyes would function as self-correcting lenses — not merely compensating for her prescription, but offering observational clarity superior to her unaided vision.

“Done!”

She scooped a small amount from the beaker and rolled it between her fingers into two black bands. She removed her thick-framed glasses — the world became an immediate, gentle blur. She gathered her damp tea-brown hair back with practiced hands and tied it into two low twin-tails at the nape of her neck, secured with the latex bands.

“Right then… here we go.” She lifted the heavy beaker, breathed in, and poured it from overhead.

Splash —

Cold. The improved latex ran along her hair shafts, swept over her forehead, her ears, her cheeks, and fused seamlessly with the existing layer at her neck — nanoscale integration, perfect continuity.

Crackle… squelch…

Head encasement complete. Her vision snapped into focus — sharper, even, than with her glasses. A neat teardrop-shaped opening remained at her nose and mouth.

And then — a problem.

Lillian had, as a precaution, replicated somewhat more latex than necessary. Approximately two litres more than necessary. With the head now sealed, the excess had nowhere to go, and obeyed gravity.

Then, following their governing instincts, they began searching for available accommodation.

For this particular suit, what was the optimal available accommodation?

The unfilled cavities, of course.

The latex that had previously been content to sit only a few centimetres inside each entrance suddenly received what amounted to reinforcements — and launched a full offensive.

“Hm?! W-wait a moment —”

Lillian registered that something was wrong.

The three previously well-behaved black openings at her groin began to writhe furiously.

Slick——!! The latex drove along soft inner walls in a long, decisive surge.

Inside her cunt, the nanoscale molecular structure allowed it to flow like a gentle but absolute current — threading past the delicate membrane without breaking it, spreading along the vaginal walls, filling every fold, advancing all the way to the cervical os, and laying a complete interior lining across the entire vaginal cavity.

Inside her urethra, the slender latex filament moved without ceremony — flowing upstream, past the sphincter, filling the urethra in its entirety, extending onward until it reached the inner bladder wall and wrapped it in a soft, thorough embrace.

And in Celia's ass, the latex was most ferocious of all — driving thirty full centimetres inside in a single relentless surge, filling her rectum and a portion of the sigmoid colon beyond.

“Haaah ♥~!!”

An adorable, imagination-igniting little cry escaped Lillian's lips before she could stop it.

That intense, utterly novel sensation of invasion and fullness made this thoroughly inexperienced virgin shudder from head to foot. Her legs went soft. She nearly buckled against the lab bench.

The latex itself was thin — under a millimetre — nothing like a dildo in terms of actual volume. But the sensation of being entered, filled, having something wrap around the inside of her body — for someone as sensitive as Lillian, it was the opening of an entirely new world.

“Mm~, so full… my stomach… it feels like my stomach is all filled up~~.” She pressed both hands against her gently flushing lower abdomen. Beneath the head-cover, her face was burning. That sensation of being completely occupied — it was shameful and, for reasons she couldn't articulate, it made her knees weak.

“What… what's happening…” She looked around in mild alarm, searching for an explanation.

Her gaze landed on the “Volunteer No. 01” hanging suspended not far away — belly visibly distended from the toys packed inside her — and understanding dawned.

“Ah… I see.” Lillian rapped her latex-covered head with one knuckle.

“I think I just… reproduced the original specification that Celia designed? No wonder Number 01 was reacting so strongly earlier — this suit is meant to fill the inside as well… It's well. It's quite hardcore, isn't it.”

Despite the verbal complaint, Lillian made no move to dissolve the suit. For one thing, it was too much trouble. For another — that peculiar, all-encompassing sense of being held and filled had done something unexpected to the low anxiety that had been simmering in her chest all day. It had, inexplicably, settled.

“Well… it's for the experiment anyway… if I just bear with it, this feeling… isn't completely unbearable.”

The latex-encased twin-tailed loli of a professor, face warm and legs pressed slightly together, resumed walking toward Celia with a gait that was subtly, undeniably strange — each step accompanied by the private, shameful awareness of what was moving inside her.

Though this time, there was something new in her expression when she looked at the suspended figure: a faint fellow-feeling. A quiet kinship.

Celia hung face-down in midair, like a joint of curing meat.

Time ticked past. The only sounds reaching her were her own labored breathing and the unceasing obscene whisper looping inside her skull. Her professor had said she was continuing the experiment — so why had everything gone silent?

[What's going on? Where did Lillian go? Did she need the bathroom? Or — did she get hungry and go eat? Or did she go change clothes because she got dirty?]

The anxiety of not knowing was worse than any physical restraint. Celia set her jaw and decided to spend a portion of her precious daily hour.

Transparency Array — ON.

At a thought, the world of total black became sharp and clear. The latex membrane over her eyes turned transparent as glass, and the entire laboratory opened up before her.

And then she saw it.

[!!!]

Her heart, already racing, was seized by something that felt almost like cardiac arrest. Pure, concentrated excitement.

The figure walking toward her — was that Lillian? No. That was something that had stepped directly out of her most depraved, most elaborate fantasy.

A small figure, barely 145 centimetres tall, sheathed from head to toe in gleaming black latex. The suit was a second skin — tracing without mercy the lines of slender limbs, the curve of full thighs, the modest but stubborn swell of her chest.

The familiar glasses-wearing, perpetually blank-faced professor was gone. In her place: a smooth, featureless black skull, with only a neat teardrop-shaped opening at the nose and mouth — exposing two soft pink lips and a small, pert nose tip.

And at the back of that smooth head, two twin-tails wrapped and shaped by latex drooped low, swaying gently with each step. Eerie. Adorable. Beyond all reason.

The effect of a living person completely stripped of individual identity — reduced to a polished, anonymous doll — hit Celia's bloodstream like a lethal dose of something she had no name for.

[Ah — AH~!! Is this — is this real?!]

[Oh my god~ — Lillian — my Professor Lillian — you actually look exactly the way I imagined ♥!!]

Celia's gaze devoured every detail of that black figure with naked greed.

[Look at that chest — those two little nipples pressed against the latex, just barely visible — so obscene — so small and yet pushing back against the suit so stubbornly — I want to put my tongue on them so badly —]

[And below — that's — a camel toe —]

Her attention dropped and locked onto the deep black crease between Lillian's thighs.

[So deep — so tight — and that small protrusion — her clit — even the hood is outlined through the latex — that obscene shape is a criminal invitation —!!]

[And the way Lillian is walking — haah~~ — those tiny shuffling steps — the way her thighs press together every few paces — does that mean — her three openings — are they filled too?!]

[Hhhhh ♥——!!!]

The roar that went through Celia's mind was purely animal.

Watching her beloved, respected professor step by step, in exact accordance with her script — and then beyond her script — becoming the same kind of latex creature as herself: the wrongness of it, the triumph of it, exceeded anything she had the words for.

The charge ran up her spine and detonated behind her eyes. She was about to come — again — just from looking —

[Going to — I'm really going to ♥~!]

But her body refused to cooperate. She was collared, gagged, limbless, wrapped in impenetrable latex, strung up by four chains in the most undignified position imaginable.

She couldn't move. Not a finger. No matter how violently every muscle spasmed with excitement, she could only hang there like an object.

That helplessness — able to see and not to touch, unable even to writhe to express excitement — became the final, crushing weight that tipped her over the edge, catalysing the pleasure to its absolute peak.

The latex twin-tailed loli stopped in front of her.

Lillian had no idea what her appearance was doing to her student. She only saw a suspended volunteer trembling faintly, and felt the straightforward response of a soft heart.

“Easy now, don't be frightened… it'll be over soon.” Lillian extended one small latex-sheathed hand toward Celia's smooth head — a gesture of comfort, the kind a mature older sister might offer. (Never mind that she looked like a pervert.)

The moment her palm made contact with that black skull —

BOOM.

The last thread holding Celia's reason together snapped.

Her professor's touch was the final spark into the powder keg.

“Glllmmmmm——!!!” Celia's head wrenched back, throat erupting in a choked, wrecked moan that the throat tube mangled into something barely human.

And then, below —

SPURRRRT————!!!!

A jet of translucent fluid, ferocious in force and staggering in volume, blasted from both the rectal and vaginal openings simultaneously — as though driven by a pressure hose.

This was not an ordinary squirt. This was a day and a night's worth of accumulation: lubricant, internal secretion, and the explosive overflow of climax detonating all at once.

Splash——!!!

The liquid arced through the air in a glittering parabola, the force of it producing an audible hiss before it crashed down like sudden rain.

“Eh?!”

Lillian startled backward — one step, instinctive.

Not quite far enough. The latex repelled moisture, yes, but the hot liquid striking the floor bounced back up to spatter against her shins and the tops of her feet.

“Wh — what was that?! Is that an extreme overstimulation response?!”

It didn't occur to Lillian to think “orgasm” — she had, after all, merely patted someone on the head. She stared at the still-spasming, still-leaking Celia, hand frozen in midair where the gesture of comfort had ended, expression entirely blank.

“That was… extremely intense…”

Inside the trembling black form, Celia's consciousness was somewhere far above the clouds, one single thought cycling in the blissful static:

[Ahh~~ I came — right in front of Lillian — got her all wet ♥~ — so good — it's so good — ahhhh — Celia is a pervert — the happiest pervert pig ♥~!]

The rich, sharp-sweet smell hung in the laboratory air. A puddle still steaming gently spread across the floor. Lillian stood in the middle of it, hand still raised from the aborted comforting gesture, caught between directions.

Her eyes fell on a passage from Celia's letter, and a clause from the attached medical documentation:

Patient: Mare-01Diagnosis: Severe Dungeon Survivor Syndrome / Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)Contraindications: Patient exhibits extreme defensive aversion toward 'unfamiliar living beings.' Prior to the establishment of a safety anchor, any physical contact from a stranger will be assessed by the patient's subconscious as a 'lethal threat' or 'curse incursion.'Clinical stress responses include but are not limited to: violent convulsion (seizure-type), autonomic nervous system collapse resulting in loss of bladder and bowel control, respiratory alkalosis, and defensive shock.

“Oh!” Lillian clapped a hand to her latex-covered head, everything clicking into place.

“That wasn't some strange involuntary spray. It was because — from her perspective — I am a terrifying stranger!” She looked at the still-faintly-trembling black figure with a gaze drowning in guilt.

“She's barely survived a dungeon that wiped out her entire party. Her vigilance toward strangers must be at an absolute extreme… and I, like a thoughtless idiot, just reached out and touched her without letting her get used to my presence at all…”

“I was so unprofessional. I knew she was a severely traumatized patient. How could I just reach out and touch her without thinking?!”

“I — I'm sorry, Number 01…” Lillian pressed her palms together and bowed sincerely toward the face that couldn't see her. “I didn't mean to touch you — I didn't know you'd react like that. I'm so sorry for frightening you! I promise — to avoid aggravating your condition — I will absolutely never touch you carelessly again!”

She said it with the full conviction of a professor taking professional responsibility.

To Celia, suspended and watching through her one hour of transparency, this landed like a thunderclap.

Her ears were stuffed with the looping you are a sow, you are a meat-hole chant — but that didn't prevent her from using her eyes. And lip-reading was basic vocabulary for a recognized imperial prodigy.

She read Lillian's soft pink lips with perfect clarity: I will absolutely never touch you carelessly again.

[WHAT. No touching?! That's not acceptable!!]

[I sprayed because it felt GOOD — I came because my beloved professor touched my HEAD — that was not a stress response — that was a CLIMAX —!!]

[If you don't touch me — what is the point of this entire seven-day plan I designed?! Is my source of happiness just going to be cut off?!]

The terror of never being touched by her professor again hit harder than five hours of physical exhaustion.

“Glllmm!!” The Celia who had been going limp with afterglow started shaking her head with the frenzy of a rattle drum.

That smooth black skull whipped side to side, the throat tube generating actual wind noise — a frantic, desperate, full-body negation.

“Hm?” Lillian, halfway back to her data, stopped. She watched the patient who had been “symptomatic” thirty seconds ago now apparently vibrating with urgent energy, and found herself at a loss.

“Does that mean… I said something wrong?” She blinked — even through the latex lens, the confusion was legible.

“Are you… disagreeing with 'no touching'?” She extended one finger tentatively, pointing at Celia's head, then at her own hand. “Do you… want me to keep touching your head?”

Time suspended.

Celia looked at her professor — finally, finally catching on — and felt something close to tears.

[Yes — YES — EXACTLY — please — please touch me — touch me hard —]

The head that had been shaking in frantic negation flipped modes instantly. Celia began nodding with violent enthusiasm — a pace and force that suggested genuine structural risk to her neck.

She went further: craning her head forward, pressing the smooth crown of her skull against Lillian's hovering hand — rubbing against it, working toward it, like a pet with no limbs who could only squirm and beg.

“Guu… guu ❤~.” The throat tube produced a sound that was unmistakably, pathetically eager.

“…Hm.” Lillian was thoroughly at sea.

“Is this the 'dissociative self-objectification' from the diagnostic report?” She scratched her cheek, and — working from the forged medical notes — assembled what felt like a coherent internal logic. “Extreme aversion to human contact, but a deep underlying desire to be treated as an 'object' or a 'pet'? And once that kind of owner-and-possession safety is established, they become very attached?”

“Mm~, this child is… unexpectedly a little sweet.” Watching the black head rubbing insistently against her palm, Lillian felt something in her chest go soft.

“Alright, alright — you really do want me to pet you.” She shook her head with a small smile. The small latex-sheathed hands came down gently onto Celia's head.

“Good girl, good girl… if you want it, I'll keep going a little longer.” She began to stroke — fingertips tracing the smooth, fine latex surface. She even slid mischievously from the crown to the back of the neck and gave a light squeeze.

“Guu~ ❤!!” Celia shuddered — but this time no flood followed. Just a sound of contentment so complete it bordered on a sob.

[Ahh~ — yes — that's it — Lillian's hands are so gentle — it feels so good~ — I knew it — she's the best — even in this strange shape she's become, she'll still pet me gently.]

In this tender and deeply aberrant atmosphere, the knot in Celia's chest finally let go. As long as her professor was still willing to touch her — this seven-day game of depravity and conditioning could continue forward, quite happily, after all ❤~.

Lillian's hand lingered on Celia's smooth head a moment longer, feeling the faintly trembling, utterly pliant warmth beneath her fingers. Then, in the way unique to truly dedicated researchers, a small splinter of unease lodged itself in her mind.

“Why… is she willing to accept my touch?”

She withdrew her hand, tapping her chin with one finger, sinking into thought.

“The medical notes said 'extreme aversion to strangers' — even to the point of triggering PTSD. And to her, I should be essentially a stranger — someone she's met once under circumstances that were arguably frightening. I've subjected her to all of that internal testing on top of it…”

“Is it because… I look like this right now?”

She looked down at her own pitch-black, gleaming, fully encased body, and touched the smooth anonymous latex surface of her head.

A hypothesis formed. To test it, she stepped back — ensuring her full silhouette was visible to Celia.

“Number 01 — you can see me right now, yes?”

Celia paused.

[She noticed I have vision?]

She hesitated briefly, then nodded — confirming yes, she could see. And then, to avoid revealing the precise “one hour daily” limitation, shook her head to indicate that this sight was not her normal state.

“Mm… nodding and then shaking…” Lillian considered this. “Does that mean you can only see for a limited time each day?”

Celia nodded, cleanly.

“I see!” Lillian snapped her fingers, pleased. “Closing off your vision is to reduce the stimulation of external imagery to the brain and ease the sensory overload. But complete darkness would cause psychological breakdown — so there's this kind of 'recess,' a period of limited sight. Is that right?”

She asked with the particular excitement of someone whose deduction she found quite elegant.

Celia nodded firmly. Completely correct. (Though entirely mistaken.)

“Then — time to verify the central hypothesis.”

Lillian raised her hand to the edge of the latex at her neckline.

“Release — head encasement.”

With a pulse of mana, the black latex coating her head liquefied and receded, flowing back down into the suit below like a tide withdrawing.

The featureless black doll's head dissolved. In its place: Lillian's familiar, dear, slightly vacant face, green eyes blinking, tea-brown twin-tails swaying.

The visual contrast this created was, if anything, more violent than the suit alone. That expression of absolute guileless innocence, sitting atop a body of gleaming, thoroughly obscene full-body latex.

“Guu——!!” Celia went rigid on her chains. Then began to shake. The throat tube couldn't contain the sound that tried to come out.

[AH — that contrast — that CONTRAST — the pure professor face and the depraved latex body — this is a delicacy on an entirely different dimensional plane —!]

Celia nearly lost it again right there. The arousal she'd barely brought under control after the last climax surged back toward the surface with enthusiasm. She had to use every last scrap of available will to clench down and prevent a second fountain.

Lillian, watching, drew an entirely different conclusion.

“As I suspected… the reaction is quite strong when she can see my face.”

She extended her hand tentatively, meaning to stroke Celia's head again as before.

“Easy — it's me, the same one who was touching you before…”

Swish —!

In the instant before contact, Celia wrenched her neck sideways. The smooth black head twisted sharply away, dodging the hand. She strained backward in her chains — avoidant, tense, the posture of someone confronted with something that might eat them.

[Yes! Perfect!]

Celia congratulated herself internally.

[When my professor shows her face — she is a terrifying 'human stranger'!]

[But when she puts the head-cover on, becomes a featureless 'latex doll' — she becomes the same kind of being as me. A 'kindred.' My 'owner,' even.]

[Only like that… can I legitimately continue enjoying this game — being objectified alongside my professor — in a way that makes sense!]

Lillian withdrew her hand. The expression on her face shifted from puzzled to comprehending.

“I see… I think I understand.”

She made the habitual motion of pushing up glasses that were no longer there, and murmured quietly to the trembling figure: “For someone with Dungeon Survivor Syndrome — a 'human face' itself is a major source of stress. It represents 'vulnerability' — 'a life that could be claimed by a curse.' Especially with a stranger. The uncertainty triggers extreme panic.”

“But…” She looked down at herself.

“If I cover myself — if I become this featureless, expressionless 'doll state' — I'm no longer a frightening 'human' in her perception. I become the same kind of thing she already is. An 'objectified kindred.' Something that can't be touched by the curse.”

“So she accepts my touch. Even becomes affectionate.”

The logic completed itself in Lillian's mind in a neat, satisfying loop.

“Poor fragile child…” She sighed softly, and raised her hand again.

“Reconstruct — head encasement.”

The black latex surged back up and swallowed her features in seconds. The endearing, faintly criminal black-latex twin-tailed loli was restored.

“How about now?” Lillian placed her hand gently on Celia's head once more.

This time, Celia didn't dodge. She pressed into the touch like a cat that had been waiting — rubbing the crown of her head against Lillian's palm, producing a low, satisfied rumble from somewhere around the throat tube.

“As I thought…” Even through the mild strangeness of having to dress as a latex creature to be accepted, the satisfaction of a solved puzzle put a smile on Lillian's face.

“In that case — for your peace of mind during the experiment — for all seven days, whenever I'm with you, I'll keep it like this.”

A decision that sent Celia into silent rapture.

“I'll be in your care — my Number 01. My kindred.”

Chapter 4

Archived Version

Lillian maintained her gentle smile. Though most of her face was encased in pitch-black latex, the delicate teardrop-shaped opening at the centre of her mask revealed her soft pink lips and the tip of her small nose. Through that slightly parted gap, you could even see the white gleam of her teeth and the glistening tip of her tongue.

Her small hand, sheathed in black rubber, stroked gently across Celia's smooth, bare scalp.

“Good girl, good girl… Since we're the same kind, there's nothing to be afraid of.”

But after just a couple of strokes, the severed head floating in midair suddenly exerted a faint pressure — and like a needy little cat demanding more, Celia actively pushed upward, nuzzling into Lillian's palm.

Lillian froze for a moment. She assumed she'd been petting too long and irritated her, or perhaps hurt her somehow — and so she instinctively withdrew her hand, taking a half-step back.

“Mmmnh—!! Mnnnh!! Mnnnh!!”

The instant the hand pulled away, Celia panicked. Her limbless body swung violently against its chains, the deep-throat tube in her mouth producing urgent, frantic cries of protest — as though she were being subjected to some new cruelty.

“Hm?” Lillian stopped, looking at her with uncertain bewilderment. “You mean… you want me to keep going?”

Celia nodded frantically.

“So…” Lillian looked at her own hovering hand, then back at the motion Celia had made pressing upward into it. “Were you pushing into my hand because the top of your head wasn't enough? You want me to touch somewhere else?”

Lillian was a little confused. In her understanding, comforting a patient usually meant petting their head or patting their back. But fortunately, Celia was an exceptionally gifted guide — she nodded vigorously again, her eyes burning with yearning, even unconsciously arching her chest forward against the pull of gravity.

“Ohh, I see.” Understanding dawned across Lillian's face. “You want deeper 'contact therapy,' is that it? All right then, I'll touch you.”

And so Lillian reached out again. This time, she tentatively pressed her hand to Celia's cheek — that latex-encased face — letting her fingers trail across the smooth, supple surface, feeling the faint warmth beneath.

Celia responded instantly. She tilted her head, rubbing her cheek against Lillian's palm with such sweet familiarity — like an animal soaking up its owner's warmth. But then she let out a soft mmnnh, her head tilting slightly back, her gaze drifting downward in silent suggestion.

“Not here either?” Lillian followed the hint, sliding her hand slowly lower.

Her fingertips skimmed the elegant column of Celia's neck, brushing the cold iron of the collar. Celia shook her head.

The hand continued down, grazing the delicate, sensual lines of her collarbone. Still, Celia whined and shook her head, even twisting her upper body with a hint of impatience.

Until — Lillian's palm slid past the collarbone and settled, open, over the black breast that hung heavy with gravity, teardrop-shaped and irresistibly inviting.

“Mmmnhh~~❤!!”

A trembling note — unmistakably happy, unmistakably relieved — spilled from the throat tube. Celia's swaying head went still, then began nodding vigorously, her chest arching forward, pushing those two soft mounds into Lillian's hands.

“Is it… here?”

The heat of Lillian's breath through the teardrop-shaped opening grew a little short. It was for therapy, she reminded herself — and yet pressing her hands directly against her volunteer's chest like this produced some undeniable rush of shame and… excitement~.

But looking at “No. 01's” expression of pure, desperate need, Lillian bit down on her resolution and saw it through.

“Then I'll… be a little bolder?” She reached out with her other hand, and both her small black-gloved hands settled simultaneously over those twin black breasts.

The sensation was extraordinary. Latex against latex. Smooth against smooth. Even the slightest pressure, and she could feel the soft, yielding fat deforming beneath.

Following Celia's silent guidance, Lillian slowly drew her hands together and downward — until her fingers closed, precisely, around the two nipples caged in their metal shock rings, erect and hard as pebbles.

“Zzt…” The moment her fingertips touched the metal rings, a faint current conducted through Lillian's magic-suffused fingers, and Celia's whole body went weak with a liquid shudder.

“Mmmnh——!!!” Celia threw her head back and released a long, sustained cry that mixed agony and exquisite pleasure in equal measure.

In this moment, her visual field was filled with her most beloved little mentor, playing with her in a latex pleasure suit; her sense of touch was full of that mentor's small hands squeezing her nipples mercilessly through the rubber; her pain receptors were singing with the current from the metal rings, igniting every nerve ending with frantic electricity.

Multiple pleasures compounding — the bliss was so total that in the separate space where her real body existed, her toes were curling tight.

Watching the body in her hands react so dramatically, Lillian's academically wired brain completed a swift process of self-convincing.

So this is what 'stimulation therapy' means — this kind of stimulation…

She looked at the trembling breast-flesh between her fingers, a flush of sheepishness and dawning comprehension moving through her.

Of course… her pussy and her backside are both stuffed with those two thick testing implements, stretched to the limit.

They're not pleasure toys — just research probes — but to the body, the sensation of foreign intrusion is itself a powerful sexual stimulus, isn't it?

If she's full below but hollow above, it would cause signal imbalance across the nervous system… That's why she's so desperate for nipple stimulation — to achieve whole-body sensory equilibrium… And if it's for the sake of balancing neural data, then this is practically a necessary medical procedure!

With that settled in her head, the last whisper of shame was steam rolled flat by Science. Lillian drew a deep breath, and something careful and dangerous lit up in her eyes.

“Since you need it… I'll help.”

Lillian pinched both shock rings between her fingers — and then began pulling them downward, grinding and kneading with real force.

“Zzt-zzt-zzt——!!”

“Mmmnhh-ngh-ngh-ngh————!!!”

The laboratory filled once more with the crackle of current and the muffled, molten cries of a gagged throat — and beneath it all, the wet pat-pat of something viscous dripping to the floor.

Celia hung suspended in midair, utterly undone by the hands that looked so small and dainty yet were proving surprisingly merciless.

Haaah~! Lillian's technique is still a bit clumsy, but that absolute ruthlessness — that pulling and grinding ♥~ — it's like she's milking a cow bred for nothing else!

This is obscene. Genuinely obscene. Is this what genius looks like? Mastering the art of driving someone insane without a single lesson…

Just as Celia was sinking blissfully into the pleasure, a certain body buff — long forgotten — struck her mind like lightning.

It was something she'd done to herself earlier. Back when she'd been playing the part of a premium breeding sow from the lower districts, baiting rough men, she'd applied a special modification — [Mana-Guided Lactation Formula].

This formula allowed her breasts, under sufficient stimulation — especially stimulation resembling milking motions — to rapidly secrete rich, sweet breast milk by consuming internal mana or life force.

She'd effectively sealed this modification away once she'd returned to her role as the brilliant, high-born witch. But now — she was wearing the suit that amplified sensitivity to obscene degrees, and the shock rings on her nipples were doing nothing but continuously electrocuting her mammary nerves.

And worst of all — Lillian's current technique. That was textbook. Merciless. Milking.

Oh FUCK. I completely forgot about that!! Celia screamed internally. The long-sealed formula was awakening — a familiar, tingling swelling rising deep in her breast tissue. The signal that milk was being produced. Fast.

No! If I spray milk… won't that make things very strange?! What kind of curse makes someone randomly lactate?! She'll definitely be suspicious!

She was just about to start whimpering and shaking her head to signal Lillian to stop — but her body has always been faster than her brain. The moment Lillian seized her left nipple and squeezed downward—

“Fssssh——!!”

The engorged, blood-dark nipple tip erupted without warning. A thin, bright jet of white liquid shot toward the floor, splashing an obvious white bloom across the dark tiles.

Celia: “…”

Lillian: “…”

The obscene ambiance of the laboratory froze solid. A profound and eerie silence fell.

Lillian's hand went rigid in midair, still pinching the nipple that continued to faintly seep. Through the transparent lens of her latex mask, she stared wide-eyed at the white-clouded puddle on the floor, then at Celia's still-dripping chest.

“This… this is…”

Celia broke into a cold sweat instantly. It's over… There's no explaining this away… What human girl starts lactating from a little groping?! She's definitely going to think I'm some kind of disgusting freak! Or she'll figure out I've been modified…

She was squeezing her eyes shut, bracing for judgment, when Lillian moved.

This mentor, overflowing with the spirit of inquiry, did not scream. Did not flee. Instead, she extended her other hand — with an expression of pure, disbelieving curiosity — and took hold of Celia's right breast.

Then, mimicking what she'd just done, she gave that right nipple a tentative squeeze-and-pull.

“Zzt——!!”

Another white jet answered, as if in reply — even more forceful than the first, shooting far enough to splash directly against the glossy black chest of Lillian's latex suit, where it began to slowly slide down.

“It's real… There really is milk…” Lillian murmured to herself.

She leaned in closer, even twitching that small, refined nose, inhaling the air.

“And… such a sweet smell. No sourness, no fishiness at all — it's more like… high-end milk with sugar added?!”

Celia had reached the point of wanting to die. If there had been a crack in the floor, she would have folded herself into it.

And then, the next second, Lillian's voice broke the silence. “Ah, Miss No. 01…” Lillian looked up. Her tone held no disgust — only a careful, tentative concern, the edge of a theory forming. “Is this… from the curse? A side effect of being ill?”

Lillian's pure, uncomplicated brain was already running at full speed, constructing the most scientifically satisfying explanation for the situation at hand.

“I've read that certain severe curses can trigger psychiatric comorbidities — and then long-term use of certain psychotropic medications can cause serious hormonal disruption, leading to galactorrhea… And on top of that, you've been in this state of high-intensity… ah, 'stimulation therapy' for a prolonged period, which may have pushed your endocrine system to an extreme state of hyperactivation… So this is actually a pathological reaction, isn't it?”

Celia, listening to all of this, was so moved she almost burst into tears and prostrated herself on the spot.

Sensei! You are my GOD! Your ability to confabulate is a treasure to the world! Yes! It's illness! Hormone disruption! Absolutely NOT because she's a perverted modified cow!

The terrified Celia, clinging to this like a lifeline, immediately began nodding her head off. Her smooth black head bobbed up and down like a woodpecker hammering a tree, frantic with relief.

Seeing her patient confirm the diagnosis, Lillian exhaled and watched the bewilderment fade from her eyes, replaced by a thickening academic interest.

“Just as I thought… that must have been so hard.” She looked at the plump, still-seeping breasts in her hands. Something felt slightly off, but if anything this was a gift-wrapped sample.

“Now that secretion has begun… if I don't drain it, she'll develop mastitis and swelling, won't she?” Lillian said, with complete, unimpeachable authority, her voice ringing with the benevolent certainty of a physician.

“As her temporary caregiver, I have a responsibility to address this.”

She reached for the large beaker she'd used earlier for the latex solution and positioned it beneath Celia.

“All right, No. 01. Bear with me — it might ache a little… but I'm going to squeeze all these 'excess hormones' out for you.”

And with that, both of Lillian's hands moved into position — arrayed in an unmistakably expert stance, poised to wring out every last drop — and began a new, more vigorous round of treatment upon those black breasts.

Haaah~~ …I'm saved… and on top of that… Sensei's going to milk me herself~! Lillian… you are absolutely the best ❤! Celia sent up a blissful internal sob.

Cradling those heavy, slick black breasts, Lillian felt their fullness and heat pulse against her palms. That first milking had tripped some strange switch inside her — the visual of white fluid pressing through her fingers was something she found herself unable to stop wanting.

“Oh, by the way…” Lillian spoke as though a particularly good idea had just arrived, her eyes behind the mask curving into crescents. “Since even that level of pulling made you this 'happy'” — she meant the spraying — “wouldn't adding other kinds of intense stimulation make you feel even better? Accelerate your recovery?”

As she spoke, she turned without preamble, that milk-slicked little hand reaching out to pick up the multi-function remote on the lab bench.

“It's been fairly gentle low-frequency vibration all this time… For a patient with this level of severity, she may have built up a tolerance already.”

She murmured to herself, and her finger pressed down without hesitation on the red button labelled [Level 4: High-Frequency Pulse / Power Thrust].

This was the second-highest of five settings — and for a “normal person” (by Lillian's reckoning) who had never been subjected to this kind of intensive stimulation, this was an extremely aggressive course of treatment.

“Beep — Nnnnnnnnng!!”

The moment the command was issued, the two massive objects lodged inside Celia roared to life like awakened beasts.

The thick probe seated in her rectum was no longer simply vibrating — it began to move like a living thing, thrusting back and forth three times per second through her colon. The amplitude was small, but each thrust struck the long-sensitized intestinal walls hard enough to rattle her organs.

The electrified vaginal rod was worse. Its electrode tip discharged visible blue arcs directly against her cervix, and simultaneously the shaft began to rotate and expand — as though intent on tearing that small, soft cavity apart from within.

“Mmmnh———eeeeeee!!!!”

The suspended Celia snapped taut across her entire body, her limbless black torso wrenching backward against its chains like a bow drawn to its limit.

But it didn't stop there.

Lillian set down the remote and turned back, both hands finding those still-spraying breasts again with merciless certainty.

“And here too… if we're going to stimulate, we go all the way!”

A thought, and the vast reserves of a Grand Magister's mana surged into her palms — then poured, without reservation, directly into the metal rings clamped at the base of each nipple.

“Zzt-zzt-zzt — CRACK!!”

The rings erupted in blinding arcs. The surge tore through the mammary ducts, riding the very channels that were producing milk, straight into the deep tissue of her chest.

In that instant, Celia felt as though two flames had been lit inside her breasts — or as though two red-hot iron tongs had clamped down and would never let go.

“Mmmmnnngh-ngh-ngh-ngh————!!!”

She could bear it no longer. From her throat burst a sustained, ear-splitting animal keen — the wail of a female creature overwhelmed past every limit.

And then her body simply broke.

“Fsshh — splaaaash!!”

The violent shift in intra-abdominal pressure and the total collapse of her nervous system caused the bladder — long strained to the edge — to surrender instantaneously. A stream of amber urine exploded from her narrow urethra in a shameful arc through the air.

At the same moment, both stuffed cavities lost all control.

From her pussy: floods of clear slick mixed with lubricant, forced through the gaps around the vibrating rod, gushing like a broken faucet.

From her ass: intestinal fluid and air trapped during insertion vented outward with mortifying wet pfft sounds, expelling bursts of turbid liquid.

And from her chest — those two breasts, crushed under Lillian's mana-amplified grip, erupted like twin miniature volcanoes, two thick white columns of milk shooting straightforward, spattering across the lens of Lillian's mask.

In an instant, Celia became a genuine human fountain.

Piss, pussy-water, anal fluid, breast milk — four different bodily fluids jetting from every opening simultaneously, weaving through the air into a tableau of utter depravity, corruption, and some deeply wrong species of beauty.

Ahhhh~~! Ruined… I'm actually ruined…

I lost control like this, right in front of Sensei… it feels so good ♥~~ my brain is boiling ♥~!

Lillian is so cruel, I love her so much ♥… Celia is a sow who can only squirt… a flesh-toilet that does nothing but produce milk and leak ♥~.

Celia rolled her eyes back, her consciousness rising and sinking in that white blankness of absolute ecstasy, abandoning thought entirely, leaving nothing but instinct — twitching, begging, offering.

Standing at the centre of the fountain, Lillian let the warm liquids splash across her without concern. The latex repelled everything anyway.

She did not think herself cruel. She did not perceive anything in the scene before her as deviant. In those green eyes behind their latex lenses, there was only one thing — a light called curiosity.

“Such an extreme reaction… Level 4 is definitely a threshold.”

Lillian wiped a streak of milk from her faceplate and continued her analysis in earnest.

“She appears to be suffering, but the monitors show her psychological stress index dropping rapidly — replaced by extremely elevated dopamine levels.”

“In other words… she's enjoying this? Or — this kind of extreme release is exactly the 'treatment' she needs?”

Lillian tilted her head, looking at the Celia who had reduced to a trembling, half-dissolved wreck — and smiled gently.

“In that case… let's maintain this frequency for another ten minutes. For the sake of treating your 'condition,' No. 01.”

This was the purest expression of Lillian's innocently cruel nature — pushing someone to the edge of the abyss with complete goodwill, dispensing the most ruthless conditioning in the softest possible voice. The victim was not merely complicit; she was grateful.

In the laboratory, two translucent Mage Hands conjured from pure mana repeated their cycle of squeeze-pull-press upon those black breasts without rest or fatigue.

Zzt… zzt…

Past the initial explosive phase, the torrential milk had subsided considerably — but every few seconds, those wrung-out nipples still stubbornly produced a small white stream, dripping into the spreading puddle on the floor below. The 5-liter beaker had long since overflowed.

The one responsible for all of this had long since retreated to the sofa.

Lillian was entirely submerged in data.

“Hmm… the mana reflux rate from the spatial ring is 0.5% higher than projected… this must be the biological mana overflow effect from a living subject in a state of extreme arousal.”

She held the densely annotated notebook in one hand, the original report Celia had provided in the other, cross-referencing with the kind of concentration that suggested the rest of the universe had ceased to exist. The fact that non-mana-users still had internal mana circuits and innate biological mana was something she was struggling with — it was those values that were giving her trouble.

“The waveform here is strange… could the shock intensity have affected the neural feedback at the spatial cross-section?”

She chewed her pen cap, brow furrowed, completely oblivious to the volunteer still hanging from the ceiling — still being worked over continuously by her Mage Hands and three vibrating probes.

In her subconscious, the treatment equipment had been configured for automatic operation. The patient simply needed to receive treatment and comply. There was nothing more for her to think about.

This total absorption was so complete she didn't even notice what her own body was doing. Those slender black-latex legs had unconsciously crossed and were pressing together, rubbing against each other in small circles. The smooth rubber surfaces produced a faint, sticky, deeply indecent squeak… squeak…

And in the air above, Celia's world was long past chaos.

…you are meat… you are only meat that leaks…

…it feels so good… take the shape of your owner…

Deep in her mind, that voice — her own, but subtly altered, magnetic with temptation — played on loop. The magic earplugs sealed the outside world completely; she couldn't hear the wet sounds of the Mage Hands milking her, couldn't hear the soft rustle of Lillian turning pages.

The only thing she could feel was the endless tide of sensation rolling through her body.

The thick probe in her bowels continued its tireless thrusting. The electrode rod at her cervix kept releasing its numbing current. The invisible hands at her chest kept squeezing her milk out without mercy.

Haaah~~ haaah~~ how many hours has it been…? Still going… still not stopping… Lillian… are you actually planning to drain me dry… nnggh~ so happy ♥…

After the initial frenzy, her consciousness had grown soft and blurred from the excess of pleasure, leaving her in a state of semi-conscious bliss. Then another climax crested and broke, and a brief, sharp burst of clarity cut through the fog.

What's Lillian doing right now? Is she watching me? Looking at me with those eyes… the way you'd look at garbage, watching me leak like this?

The fantasy of being observed sent her shivering again. Celia made the considerable effort of engaging the rusted machinery of her brain and calculated the time.

Oh no… today's visual time limit… I think it's almost used up…

She'd spent a solid half hour enjoying Lillian's latex outfit with her X-ray vision. The remaining time was probably only a few minutes.

Just one more look… just one… She bit down and suppressed the pleasure-induced lobotomy, activating the formula that only she knew existed.

“X-ray Formula — ON (short pulse mode).”

The darkness dissolved. The familiar laboratory swam back into view.

But what she saw was not the image she'd imagined — Sensei standing below, watching her disgrace herself with relish.

What she saw was a small black figure, curled up on the distant sofa, clutching a pile of documents, reading intently.

From Celia's angle, she couldn't make out Lillian's expression through the latex mask — but from the way her head was bowed and her hand moved in continuous notation, it was obvious.

She had completely and entirely forgotten Celia existed.

Hm…?

She's not watching me? Not watching me at ALL?!

She hung me up here like a broken rag doll and went off to STUDY?!

A powerful, overwhelming surge of humiliation and longing — the specific variety known as neglect play — slammed into Celia.

So this was what it felt like to be treated as a pure object.

No attention required. No communication required. Just taken out when needed, and casually set aside when there were more important things to do. She felt exactly like a running dishwasher. A charging electric toy.

Ah… ahhhh ♥…

Celia stared at that absorbed, focused silhouette. Stared at the pair of black latex legs pressing unconsciously together, rubbing against each other.

Lillian… how could you ♥… how heartless ♥~!

But I… love it so much!!

Being completely ignored, completely set aside like this… it's a hundred times better than being stared at ahhhhhh ♥!!

The psychological impact detonated the body.

“Mmmph——!!”

Celia convulsed sharply. The X-ray image flickered and flashed red with a warning.

[Warning: Today's visual quota nearly exhausted. Time remaining: 10 seconds.]

In the last few seconds before darkness returned, Celia stared hungrily at those pressing, rubbing latex-clad legs. She couldn't hear the squeak-squeak of the friction, but she could imagine it through the image alone — that thick, sticky sensation.

Ahh~… Lillian, please keep ignoring me… just leave me hanging here… until I'm completely broken ♥~.

Nnng —

The vision cut out. The world went dark again. Only the eternal vibration, the current, and the words cycling endlessly through her mind —

…you are a flesh-toilet… you are of no importance to anyone… a disposable object…

“Phew — finally done!”

Lillian set down her quill, stretched broadly, her spine cracking in a series of satisfying pops. The particular relief of having solved every variable in a problem filled her with bright good humour.

“Now then…”

She looked up — glancing reflexively toward the experimental sample hanging at the centre of the lab.

And nearly fell off the sofa.

The body that had been convulsing periodically now swayed only gently in the air, carried by inertia. The nipples that had been spraying like jets now only managed the occasional laboured drip.

The whole figure radiated the exhaustion of something wrung completely dry — an absolute limit, barely maintained.

“Oh no! I lost track of time!” Lillian checked the wall clock. A full four hours had passed since she'd last paid attention.

”That was sustained high-intensity electro stimulation and vibration! And suspended in midair the entire time… even someone made of iron couldn't handle that! And she's a patient!”

Lillian panicked. She rushed over, dismissed the Mage Hands and the levitation formula with a wave.

“Careful, careful…”

She caught the black body as it descended, cradling it gently, and lowered Celia back into the straw-lined wooden crate.

“I need to replenish her fluids and nutrition immediately! Otherwise, she'll actually go into dehydration shock!”

Lillian looked around, eyes landing on the half-finished tube of Pineapple-Flavour Nutrient Paste on the desk.

“Thank goodness there's still half left! This is a high-concentration nutrient formula!”

She snatched up the oddly shaped squeeze tube, was about to simply push it into Celia's mouth — and immediately discovered an inconvenient problem.

Celia's mouth was sealed entirely behind black latex, with only one circular opening the width of a pinky finger remaining. And that opening was connected to a deep-throat soft tube that ran down into her stomach.

Which meant: to feed her, the food would need to be directed precisely into that small hole.

And yet — Lillian stared at the thick, cylindrical squeeze bottle in her hand, its surface covered in what she assumed were anti-slip ridges (actually modelled after veins). At its tip was a soft, mushroom-head nozzle.

“The design of this thing… you have to seal the nozzle with your mouth to create negative pressure, and squeeze the body at the same time to get anything out… I suppose it's to prevent spillage, but in this situation that means—ahhh!!” She had to admit this nutrient paste was, for present purposes, genuinely counter-intuitive.

She tried squeezing with just her hand. The viscous semi-liquid refused to move, suctioning back against the pressure.

“I have no choice… I have to suck it out with my mouth, then feed it to her…”

Lillian looked at the barely conscious No. 01 lying in the crate. Then at the stick-shaped object in her hand that couldn't dispense anything without being sealed by lips.

Her small face went crimson in an instant.

“This is… this is way too embarrassing! Feeding her mouth-to-mouth… but we're both girls, and it's to save her life… Yes. This is a life-saving measure! That's exactly what it is! A life-saving measure!”

Lillian fortified herself through sheer internal argument, drew a deep breath, parted those soft pink lips — and took the large mushroom nozzle into her mouth.

“Mmhh…”

That soft, elastic fullness filled her oral cavity in a way that was, for reasons she declined to examine, faintly obscene. But Lillian couldn't afford to think about that right now.

She began to suck, awkwardly at first. Her cheeks hollowed and puffed with the effort, tongue working to seal around the nozzle, while her right hand gripped that vein-textured shaft and began rhythmically squeezing and pumping up and down.

“Slrp~! Slrp~!”

With sounds that would have made anyone watching blush, thick, warm, sweet-and-faintly-musky white liquid was drawn into her mouth. The taste of concentrated pineapple and something that lingered beneath it.

When her cheeks ached from the suction and her mouth was full, Lillian pulled off, bent down, and lowered herself.

Her latex-encased face — featureless except for that precise aperture revealing pretty lips — drew close to Celia's face with its three small holes.

“Open up — ah, wait, you can't open up…” Lillian pressed her lips, a little awkwardly, flush against that small black circular opening in Celia's mask.

Two mouths — or rather, one mouth and one latex hole — sealed together perfectly.

“Glkh…” Lillian puffed her cheeks and exhaled, and the warm mouthful of thick white fluid, mixed now with her own saliva, poured through the hollow latex channel directly into Celia's body.

Because the deep-throat tube fed straight to the stomach, Celia couldn't taste anything. She only felt a warm current flowing, unobstructed, into her long-cramped, spasming stomach.

“Gurgle…” The satisfaction of being filled made her fraying consciousness gather itself slightly.

Nnggh… something warm… it's flowing in… this is… Lillian feeding me…?! Ahhhh~ so happy ♥!

She couldn't see it. But the sensation of lips touching could not be deceived.

And should anyone else have witnessed this scene, they would have been convinced they were watching some depraved and sinister religious ritual — dim light, a latex-encased lolita with twin tails kneeling on the floor, cradling a limbless, toy-stuffed human torso.

First: working that thick fake phallus (actually a bottle) with expert efficiency, swallowing and pulling, hands pumping the shaft, until she drew forth its white essence.

Then: bending down and pressing her mouth to the torso's, pouring that life-giving, obscene white fluid in mouthful by mouthful.

“Slrp~, haah~, there's still a lot more…” Lillian withdrew, wiped the overflow from the corner of her mouth, looked at the still mostly full tube — and, without a moment's guard, took that mushroom head back between her lips.

“Mmhh… slrp-slrp…” The sounds of suction and swallowing echoed through the quiet laboratory, composing variations on the theme of innocence and depravity.

Half an hour later, Lillian sucked the last trace of white nutrient paste from the thick tube and swallowed it down.

“Slrp… gulp.” The sweet, faintly pungent liquid slid down her throat and spread as warmth through her stomach, which had been quietly protesting for some time.

She tossed the empty tube into the bin and looked up. Through the gap in the thick blackout curtains, a sliver of harsh light.

She glanced at the magic clock on the wall — [Current Time: Thursday, 11:00 AM]

“Wait—?! Is it already… noon the next day?”

Lillian blinked, and rubbed her eyes — which the distance-correction formula was no longer quite keeping up with.

From yesterday afternoon at four, when that enormous shipping crate arrived, she'd been running like a clockwork automaton — nearly twenty consecutive hours.

In that time, she'd conducted deep rectal and reproductive-cavity tissue mapping while the subject was still in the box; followed by several hours of suspended-levitation mana-reflux and zero-gravity response observation; the memorable milk-spray and quadruple-fluid-geyser incident in the middle; and then several more hours of meticulous spatial-stability calculation…

“No wonder… my back is a little sore, and there's a dull ache around my liver…” Lillian pressed the side of her latex-wrapped lower abdomen. A warning throb — the blunt ache of overuse.

Even a Grand Magister's physique had its limits after this kind of sleepless, high-intensity simultaneous drain on both brain and mana.

“Honestly… I always lose track of time the moment I start an experiment.” She sighed, looking at the several notebooks that were now filled cover to cover with irreplaceable data — and couldn't quite keep the corner of her mouth from curving.

Exhausted to the point of near-collapse, but the thrill of glimpsing the edge of a truth was enough to erase every physical complaint.

As for the poor volunteer —

Lillian turned to look at the black human-torso lying in the wooden crate, just fed, currently in a semi-conscious state.

Celia looked genuinely terrible. Body slack as a wet cloth, abdomen still faintly distended, both holes still plugged with their inserts, body streaked with dried and fresh fluids alike. Anyone seeing her would conclude she'd just survived a brutal interrogation.

“Though it was harder on her than I anticipated… and the reactions were a bit more intense than expected.”

Lillian scratched the back of her latex hood and felt a faint ripple of guilt.

“But… for treating a serious curse and psychological illness, this was a necessary process.” She smoothed it over with her impeccable internal logic almost immediately. “And this data is critical for improving the spatial ring. It will benefit the entire empire someday.”

“Yes! Decided! When I settle her compensation, I'll triple the agreed amount — no, five times. Five times will do!”

This was Lillian Vivienne Orcott.

In that warm, sunlit office of hers, she was the lolita professor who brought her students little cookies — a little scattered, but gentle and approachable.

But in that sealed, lightless laboratory, the moment those green eyes looked through safety goggles and an experiment began, she became a data-harvesting machine with no emotions whatsoever.

In that mode, a person was not a person — only a precision instrument of bone, muscle, nerve, and mana circuitry. Pain was not pain — only an electrical signal transmitted by nerve endings.

The older students in her department all passed down an unwritten iron law: [Never, under any circumstances, disturb Professor Lillian when she is conducting an experiment. Unless you wish to become the next 'data sample' written up in her report.]

“Phew… I really need to rest.”

Lillian felt her eyelids starting to fight her. She surveyed the disaster of a laboratory, then looked at the still-uncleaned Celia.

“Cleaning… I'll do it when I wake up.” She no longer had the energy to move a single finger.

And so this double-tailed, fully encased black-latex professor — like an exhausted little cat — made her way to the small folding cot tucked into the laboratory's corner.

She sat on its narrow edge, already tipping backward, eyelids barely staying open. But when her peripheral vision caught the small, lonely figure lying in the wooden crate — stuffed full, miserable-looking, a black limbless thing — the human-feeling part of her brain finally, belatedly, engaged.

“Mmm… just leaving this kid in a hard wooden box… that's not quite right, is it…”

Lillian rubbed her eyes. She thought of the way this child had nuzzled against her palm like a puppy asking to be petted. She thought of the patient notes — [sole survivor; witnessed teammates reduced to flesh-puppets; following the curse, developed severe dissociative self-objectification disorder…]

“And… after that level of intense 'treatment,' her psychological defences against the curse must be fragile. If she wakes up alone in the dark feeling abandoned… that fear of being left by the world would trigger her PTSD and cause a relapse for certain.”

Lillian made a decision.

“I'll just… hold her while we sleep.”

The cot was narrow, but there was plenty of room for two petite girls. (Especially Celia, who with no limbs was considerably more compact — practically the dimensions of a body pillow~.)

As for the latex suit — Lillian looked down at herself.

“Better leave it on. Celia specifically mentioned in her letter that this patient has an extreme adverse reaction to human scent and faces. If she wakes up and the first thing she sees is my unfamiliar human face, the fear of being overtaken by the curse again would probably make her lose control all over again.” (The misunderstanding deepened further~.)

“If I sleep next to her maintaining this faceless, expressionless latex doll appearance… to her eyes, I won't be a frightening human any more. I'll be the same kind as her. Maybe that will give her a little sense of safety.” Half-asleep already, Lillian congratulated herself on being such a thoughtful and conscientious caregiver.

She pressed herself to her feet through sheer will, walked to the crate, and scooped up the heavy black body-pillow torso.

“Good girl… don't be afraid. Your big sister is the same kind as you. She'll sleep with you…”

Lillian carried Celia to the cot, positioned her on the inner side lying on her side, and lay down on the outer edge herself — wrapping both arms around that smooth black torso, holding her the way one holds an oversized plush doll.

“Mmm… so comfortable…” That skin-against-skin sensation mediated by two layers of latex — the smooth press and friction of it — was, in some undefinable way, pleasant.

The black latex surface was sleek and faintly cool, just enough to offset the heat that always built in her body from overextending her mana. And the subtle rubber smell was, somehow, calming.

Lillian's small hands drifted, searching for a comfortable position, and came to rest against Celia's gently rounded lower abdomen. Her fingertips pressed without thinking — and through the thin skin and latex, she could feel the hard contour of the vibrating probe inside, where its end pressed outward.

“Ngh…” She shifted, curling her thighs up, the inner flesh of her thighs settling snugly against the base of the two probes protruding from between Celia's legs.

“Mmm… soft and cool big body pillow… so comfy…” Lillian mumbled incoherently, then pressed her face against Celia's smooth back and fell deeply, instantly asleep.

For Celia, equally exhausted but now completely incapable of sleep — it was a different kind of hell.

Ah… Lillian… she's asleep… so close… her breath is on my back… so warm…

In the dark, Celia tried to squirm. All her toys had been switched off. Without the vibration and current that had been short-circuiting her brain, her remaining senses snapped into sharp, merciless clarity.

This is awful…

The thick rectal probe still stretched her completely — every breath pressed it against the intestinal walls. The vaginal rod no longer sparked, but the cold foreign-object fullness still pressed against her cervix. The deep-throat tube still prevented her from closing her jaw, saliva slowly pooling along its walls.

Most damning of all: Lillian's hand. That warm little hand resting on her belly, occasionally pressing — without any awareness — against that outward-pushing contour.

Ughhh ♥~ don't press there… ngh ♥~! The sensation of the rod-head shifting and grinding against her sensitive spots with each inadvertent press was maddening.

And below. Lillian's soft thighs were pressed solidly against the bases of both rods, and every time Lillian shifted or moved her legs, both probes would be pushed deeper — striking the soft innermost reaches.

Nngh… it pushed in… it pushed in again ♥~! I want to move, I want to twist… I can't move… ohh ♥~…

The muscle relaxant was fading, but hadn't fully cleared. She still had no strength.

Celia lay there, used as a proper human body pillow by the person she loved most, held captive in warm arms. Her heart was absolutely soaring — I'm sleeping with Lillian! In this state! — but her body was being subjected to a constant, unrelenting slow torture: the blunt-knife pleasure of almost-but-not-quite, impossible to resolve.

I want vibration… I want current… I want to be played with brutally… not this… not this quiet neglect… this is harder to bear than the electroshock was…

In the darkness, accompanied by Lillian's steady, deep breathing, Celia could only bite down on the throat tube and weep silently inside, savouring this sweetly cruel, exquisitely merciless ordeal.

The laboratory's tireless magic climate system hummed low and constant.

Lillian slept with remarkable soundness. The body pillow she was holding had an extraordinary texture — smooth, soft, faintly cool — and that precise sense of fullness let the part of her brain that was always tightly wound completely relax.

Celia, thoroughly tormented, held out through the initial stretch of purgatorial almost-there suffering — but she could not outlast her own physical and mental exhaustion. Soothed by the steady rhythm of Lillian's breathing and the warm, pleasant scent of her, Celia's eyes eventually rolled back, and she sank, murkily, into sleep too.

And so they lay there — one faceless latex lolita embracing one limbless latex torso — two black puzzle pieces fitted together, curled on that narrow folding cot.

Eight hours later.

“Mmh…” Lillian's long lashes trembled. She surfaced slowly from the deep.

She propped herself up groggily, reached by habit to rub her sleep-heavy eyes.

“Squeak… squish…”

The moment her fingertips touched her eye socket, she met the characteristic resistance and rubbery friction of latex.

“Hm?” She paused. That foreign touch prodded her sluggish brain slightly further awake.

“Oh… right.” She remembered then — she hadn't taken off the [Self-Cleansing Magic Latex Suit] before sleeping.

Sleeping in it was a bit odd, admittedly. But given the poor child beside her and her terrible survivor's syndrome and the curse — if she woke up to an unfamiliar human face, she'd almost certainly have an acute episode on the spot. For the sake of her patient's fragile psyche, Lillian had fully committed to maintaining this non-human kindred appearance.

“Such a poor child.” Lillian sighed softly, then looked down at the still-sleeping No. 01.

Celia was curled in on herself — that limbless form looking both pitiable and somehow unnervingly cute. Perhaps because she was asleep, the deep-throat tube stretching her jaw had caused a thin thread of saliva to trail down the tube and dampen the pillow.

“Sleeping so peacefully… it seems like 'kindred accompaniment therapy' is quite effective.” Lillian smiled with quiet satisfaction, and didn't disturb her.

Just then — knock knock knock. A clear, rhythmic knock shattered the quiet of the lab.

“Professor Lillian? Are you in? It's William — I do the deliveries. There's a package from Senior Celia for you, if you're there, could you come sign for it?”

A young man's voice from the other side of the door.

“Ah! That student who brings the nutrient paste!” Lillian recognized the voice immediately.

“Today's batch of 'Pineapple Nutrient Paste' must be here too… and I'm actually a little hungry. That flavour really is somewhat addictive.”

Without another thought, Lillian moved — with deliberate care, so as not to wake Celia. She didn't even bother with slippers (the latex covered her feet anyway), padding in her small black rubber feet across the carpet toward the door.

At this moment, her brain, still only half-booted, was entirely occupied by the task of going to get something tasty — and had not registered in the slightest degree what she currently looked like. Encased head-to-toe in form-fitting black latex. Latex hood. Three cavities internally filled and sealed. A state, in short, profoundly unsuited to appearing before another person — let alone one of her own students.

Outside, the young man called William was looking down at the heavy parcel in his hands, a little weary.

“Hm… still no answer. Did she not come back? There was nobody when I came at noon either… Did the professor go out for some rare experimental material? A long trip?”

He looked at the long narrow box, sighed. “Why do these seven packages need to be delivered separately once a day each? Why not just send them all at once… Senior Celia really does like to make things complicated. “ He wasn't genuinely resentful, though — running errands for the legendary genius senior paid extremely well.

He was about to do what he'd done at noon — leave it by the door and go — when:

“Click.”

The heavy laboratory door swung open from inside.

“Oh! Professor Lillian, you are in! Thank goodness — I've been by three times already with this package, I was starting to think I'd never—”

William's face lit up with a professional smile. He launched into his greeting, extending the parcel forward by reflex, and tilted his head up to say hello to the professor — the one who usually wore an oversized sweater and looked a bit scattered and adorably confused.

“Huh… ?”

The sentence died in his throat. The sound he made instead was something like a goose being strangled.

Time appeared to freeze.

Standing in his line of sight was not any familiar figure in a white coat.

It was a — small, humanoid entity, encased from head to foot in something pitch-black, sleek, gleaming, skintight—

No face. The entire head was a smooth black sphere of rubber, interrupted only by a strange teardrop-shaped opening at the centre that revealed a glimpse of soft pink lips. Behind the figure's head, two signature twin tails had been encased into twin black tentacle-like protrusions.

His eyes moved down. The suit was impossibly tight, tracing an A-cup figure with a slender waist — and below that, a deep, shadowed camel-toe outline that made his heart stutter.

This black entity stood barefoot in the doorway, one latex-covered small hand extended, apparently reaching quite naturally to accept the package.

“…”

Both of them held their positions — one offering, one reaching — eyes locked.

The latex completely encased Lillian's own eyes — but that did nothing to prevent her from seeing through the [Panoramic X-ray Formula] layered into the suit. She watched, in perfect clarity, as William's expression transitioned from professional smile to confusion to extreme horror and shock, the full journey rendered in real time.

She looked down at her own outstretched arm — fully encased in jet-black rubber.

And then the next instant, Lillian's half-started brain finished booting.

BOOM——!!

A thunderclap. As if lightning had struck her directly on the crown.

A specific variety of cold dread — the terror known as social death — shot from the soles of her feet to the top of her skull, and she turned to stone.

“Eeeeeeeyaaaaaaa————!!!”

A frequency-shattering, glass-cracking screech of pure shame burst from Lillian's mouth — the sound of a cat whose tail had just been trodden on and who had simultaneously discovered herself live-streaming naked across the entire network. Equal parts despair and collapse.

Then she moved at something approaching sprint speed. Her black hand shot out, snatched the parcel from William's grip.

“CRASH——!!!”

The heavy lab door was flung shut with enough force to blow William's fringe back and leave him standing frozen in its wake.

The corridor achieved a cemetery stillness. The poor young man remained in his delivery pose, staring blankly at the closed door, his brain on infinite replay of what had just appeared before him — the black latex, the camel-toe, the teardrop gap and the pink lips within it—

After a very long pause, a voice came through the door — shaking, clearly belonging to someone who wanted to be swallowed by the earth.

“T-tha— that — W-W-W-WILLIAM!!”

“This — this is a specialized anti-contamination isolation suit for experimental use!! It's a — a private custom design that hasn't been officially published!! I only wear it when I'm conducting extremely dangerous contamination-risk experiments on my own!! It is absolutely NOT some kind of indecent costume!! I absolutely do NOT have any strange personal predilections!!”

The explanation erupted in machine-gun volleys, voice cracking slightly, as though every second of delay would cement the worst possible interpretation.

“Please — please don't misunderstand!! This is self-sacrifice for SCIENCE!! FOR SCIENCE!!”

Outside, William stood rooted to the spot for a good while before the full-body shock began to drain away. He swallowed. His throat was a little dry.

“Ah… r-right! Of course! I could tell! I was going to say, there's no way the Professor would— would— um…”

He stammered, fighting to make his voice sound normal. “Professor, please don't worry at all! I won't misunderstand!! That kind of professional isolation gear looks very — mmm — very professional!! Really, truly very professional!!”

“And I'll take whatever I saw today completely to my grave!! Not a word to anyone!! If someone asks, I'll say you were doing a classified experiment!! Exactly that!!”

William delivered this pledge with the sincerity of a man swearing before a court, and then, not even waiting for a response, rattled out a barely audible “Goodbye professor” and fled — literally fled — toward the stairwell.

He ran fast. A little undignified. Because he needed to get back to his room immediately — though he'd had no prior exposure to this particular niche of human experience, the image of Professor Lillian in that latex suit — curves on full display, strange and perversely arousing — had been seared directly into his grey matter. The visual impact was immense. More devastating, somehow, than any uncovered skin — because of the contradiction, the complete encasement that somehow created more heat than nakedness could. The rigid evidence of this beneath his school uniform trousers was testament enough to his honest physical reaction. He needed the bathroom. Now.

Inside the door, Lillian's legs gave out entirely. She slid down the door and collapsed onto the floor, face flushed behind the latex.

“Uwuuuu… I genuinely want to die…” She hugged her knees, buried her latex-covered face into her arms, mind in complete static.

She knew William. He was a good kid — principled, discreet, absolutely not the type to gossip or let things slip. This helped nothing.

The fact that a student had seen her in her full-coverage latex suit was, in and of itself, sufficient to kill her socially approximately ten thousand times.

And though it had been only a glance — her vision had inevitably caught the lower half of William as he stood there. Through the loose school uniform trousers, even then, there was an outline that couldn't be mistaken—

“Gulp.”

Lillian swallowed involuntarily. Her heart missed a beat. A strange heat crept through her body. She reached down, instinctively, and pressed her fingertips to her crotch.

“…As expected.”

What her fingertips met was a faint warmth through the black latex. The [Self-Cleansing Circulation System] evidently hadn't fully processed the rush of arousal fluid from that split-second of exposure shame — the seal of her pussy was slick and tacky.

And the two nipples constrained within the latex, and the clitoris held in its internal nub — all had responded to that particular flavour of humiliation by hardening, throbbing, sending little sparks of sensation through her.

“I… what is happening to me?” Lillian pressed her thighs together in alarm.

She wasn't asexual. She wasn't some kind of oblivious celibate. It was just that she had fed every hour and every ounce of energy into her research for years — no time, no opportunity, for romance or contact with anyone of any gender.

And her parents — equally obsessed with magical research, perpetually absorbed in each other, loudly in love and intellectually symbiotic — had made Lillian feel, growing up watching them from the outside, that she was an accidental surplus product of their union. An interloper in a world built for two. Over time, she'd grown practiced at filling herself with academics, ignoring what the body wanted.

But now this suit was behaving like a key to Pandora's box, working loose things she'd pressed flat for years.

“Breathe. Calm down, Lillian. That was just a normal physiological response!! Stop overthinking it!!”

She smacked her overheating cheeks and breathed deliberately, forcing her pulse down.

After a while of braining on the floor, her inner landscape settled, barely.

“Alright… what's done is done. Food first. Iron stomach, iron will…”

She accepted her fate, stood up from the floor, and picked up the package she'd nearly crushed.

She opened the box. The familiar odd-shaped squeeze tube tumbled out.

(A shape that suggested something without quite committing — round cylinder, mostly, but with those subtly vein-textured ridges and the mushroom-head nozzle at the tip.)

“Hm… this one looks a little bigger around than yesterday's?” Lillian picked it up and turned it over, completely unaware of how dangerous that observation was.

She gripped the shaft in her palm, positioned her mouth over the mushroom nozzle, and — just as she had yesterday — opened her lips without guard and took the large head inside.

“Mmhh… slrp-slrp…”

One hand squeezing the body with rhythmic pressure, tongue working to seal the nozzle and draw — the combination of motions, if you swapped out the bottle, would be a textbook demonstration that required no further explanation.

Lillian sat on the floor mat by the door, flushed, practicing in blissful ignorance, refuelling. She genuinely believed the mushroom-head nozzle was an anti-spill design requiring suction plus compression to operate. Nothing more.

On the cot, Celia slept on, breathing softly. The earth-shaking social catastrophe that had just occurred might as well have happened in another dimension, thanks to her fully isolating hypnosis earplugs. Not a trace disturbed her dreams.

Lillian sat on the mat with the half-emptied tube — its surface gleaming with a thin coat of her saliva — and stared into the middle distance.

Her brain was still involuntarily looping that moment. William's shocked expression. Her own indecent latex silhouette. The shameful screech.

“Uwuuuu… I can never show my face again…” The strength of the humiliation made her small toes curl helplessly inside the latex suit, straining to claw a three-bedroom apartment into the carpet and climb inside.

“THUD.”

A muffled impact broke her spiral.

On the narrow folding cot, the muscle relaxant had finished clearing Celia's system entirely. Surfacing from sleep, she'd instinctively tried to stretch — to extend her arms, push out her legs, roll her spine—

And remembered, too late, that she had no limbs.

The arm that would have supported her didn't exist. The leg-push became a futile torso-twist. Without limbs to balance, and given how narrow the cot was, she rolled like a round black sausage straight off the edge and hit the carpet with a solid thud.

“Mmph?!”

Celia, face-down on the mat, tried to process this, wriggling like an upturned turtle.

“Ah!! No. 01!!”

Lillian was on her feet in an instant, social crisis obliterated. She crossed the room and scooped the wriggling form off the floor, checking her over with visible urgency.

“Are you all right? Did that hurt?”

But Celia didn't respond as she had before — no nod, no head-shake.

She only pressed her smooth bare head against Lillian's chest, nuzzling there like a small animal seeking heat, the throat tube producing a thin, dazed whine.

“Hm?” Lillian noticed immediately.

“No response? Is she displeased with me, or…” She tried waving her hand before Celia's face, then calling out loudly near her ear.

Nothing. Celia simply pressed closer, as if Lillian were the only solid thing in a dark and shapeless world.

“As I thought… she's in a completely blind-and-deaf state right now. The visual time limit must be exhausted, or she hasn't activated it yet. And the earplugs are blocking all hearing…”

To test this, and to restore communication, Lillian set Celia gently down on the wide research sofa.

“No. 01?” She stepped back, called out.

The black torso on the sofa made no response — only flopped and squirmed like a fish out of water, head swivelling in all directions, searching without knowing what it searched for.

“It's hard to watch…” Lillian sighed and raised her hand. A gentle white light gathered at her fingertip.

“Supplementary formula — [Shared Vision: X-ray Link].”

Since the patient couldn't see, Lillian simply gave her the same sight formula she herself used.

The Celia who had been doing her best impression of a worm on the sofa blinked — and light came flooding in.

The darkness vanished. The world came back, crisp and clear. But strangely — she hadn't activated her own one-hour daily visual quota, and this vision felt slightly different, more detailed than her own?

As she puzzled over this, she looked up — and there was the twin-tailed latex lolita standing before her, fingertips still faintly glowing with residual magical light.

Lillian, seeing Celia's face finally oriented toward her with some sense of a gaze, felt the connection re-establish. She spoke slowly and distinctly, making her lip movements as clear as possible:

“Can you see now? Miss Mare-01 — ah, I don't know your name yet, so I'll have to keep using that. Can you lip-read?”

Celia recognized instantly — this was Sensei's gift to her. She nodded emphatically, signalling perfectly understood.

Then, maintaining her role, she did what a loyal and affectionate pet would do — strained her limbless body forward, pressed that smooth bare head against the hand Lillian had extended, and produced a deep contented rumble, expressing gratitude and devotion.

“Good, communication is possible.” Lillian exhaled with relief, and patted that smooth head as naturally as she might pet a cat. The fact that the patient understood lip-reading was a little surprising, but for an advance scout in an adventuring party, not implausible.

Then something occurred to her. Her expression shifted slightly — more serious, edged with careful sympathy.

“That is — I was reading the notes about your case, and it says that because of what you've been through, you need to be physically restrained and placed in a sensory-isolated environment without external stimulation for your mental state to stabilize — otherwise you develop severe hallucinations or self-destructive tendencies…”

“And my student — Celia, who signed the contract with you — happened to need a volunteer for spatial ring human trials. So it was… particularly suitable on multiple levels, and that's why you've come here for this 'limb-removal' enclosed treatment alongside the spatial ring experiment. Is that right?”

Lillian recited the version of events she'd assembled by combining her own confabulation with the falsified case file — presenting it as a perfectly coherent whole.

Hearing this, Celia stopped moving entirely for a moment. This was the core premise of her own script. Since Sensei was covering for her so perfectly — as a great actress, how could she not deliver?

The next second, her body erupted in violent shaking.

“Mmmnh-ngh-ngh——!! Mnnnh!! Mmm-ngh——!!!”

She curled in on herself, releasing agonized, terrified cries from the throat tube, ramming her head deeper into the sofa cushions — as though the image of her teammates' deaths in that horrible labyrinth had just flashed before her eyes, or the memory of the curse that had reduced her to this state.

“Ah! Don't be frightened, don't be frightened!” Lillian startled, dropped to her knees in front of the sofa, and wrapped both arms around the trembling black form without hesitation.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have brought it up! It's okay… it's all over now! This is my laboratory, not that underground labyrinth… and there are no monsters here, no strangers…”

She pressed her latex faceplate gently against Celia's forehead, and said softly: “Look — I'm like this too… I'm the same kind as you. Your big sister will protect you. All right?”

Held against Lillian's warm, gently milk-scented chest, the trembling in Celia's body slowly quieted.

Uwuuuu… Lillian is truly too tender~, it's all an act and still somehow I want to cry a little. Being taken care of like a fragile little creature… this is really wonderful~.

She pushed further into Lillian's arms, found a comfortable spot, and refused to be dislodged.

Now that Sensei has said 'same kind'… let's just get along well for the next few days, shall we. My big sister ❤.

When the trembling finally subsided and Celia's breathing had steadied, Lillian eased her gently back, holding both her round shoulders and creating a small distance between them.

Two smooth, gleaming, jet-black latex heads oriented toward each other. Their eyes were sealed behind thick black rubber — but through the magic-constructed transparent vision, this was a peculiarly intimate four-eyed meeting. Lillian looking through layers of latex at a soul she perceived as scarred and fragile. Celia looking through layers of latex at the mentor she loved with a specific variety of lunacy, brimming with possessive adoration.

“Hem. That is — No. 01, can you listen to me for a moment…” Lillian cleared her throat. Her voice became earnest and careful. “About yesterday's experiment… I think I went a bit too far. I'm genuinely sorry. I'm the type who, once I begin researching something I find interesting, gets completely absorbed and stops noticing how my collaborators are doing.”

Recalling yesterday's hours-long suspension, the all-out draining, the high-intensity vibration — Lillian's conscience winced. The data was perfect. But subjecting a patient to that degree of strain for the sake of data was clearly a violation of her obligations as a professor.

She breathed in, as though steeling herself, and continued: “Currently, the foundational data Celia gave me regarding the spatial ring — I've nearly finished cross-referencing and validating all of it. The key waveforms and stability tests have all yielded satisfying results.”

“So… for the next few days, I've decided to significantly reduce the intensity of the experiments.”

She spoke in that warm I'm doing this for your own good tone: “Things like — cancelling the high-intensity internal vibration. Reducing suspension time. I could even take out the tube and the inserts and let you rest properly… that should ease a lot of the physical and mental burden, right?”

“…”

Hearing this, Celia felt as though five bolts of lightning had struck her simultaneously. The sky was collapsing.

What?! Reduce intensity?!

Who's going to compensate me for the conditioning and pleasure I'm missing out on?!

I went through all the trouble of packaging myself and shipping myself over here, not to mention having my own limbs removed so I'd be completely dependent — what was ALL OF THAT FOR? Wasn't it specifically so I could enjoy being played with mercilessly and without restraint by Sensei?!

Celia screamed internally.

I wrote it all out clearly in that letter! I gave myself a full seven-day [Sacred Healing Level] high-grade recovery formula! That's a top-tier formula that can regenerate severed limbs! Even if you stuffed an industrial-grade probe into my uterus and electrocuted me into incontinence a hundred times, my body would NOT break!

And I specifically emphasized — for a patient with 'dissociative self-objectification,' only STRONG stimulation creates a sense of safety! Reducing intensity? That's MURDER! That's depriving me of the feeling of being alive!!

No!! ABSOLUTELY NOT NO!!

Unfortunately, not a single one of these several thousand words of internal screaming could come out.

Her mouth was stuffed entirely with a thirty-centimetre deep-throat tube equipped with anti-removal clips, sealed on the outside by a full-coverage latex hood with three breathing holes the width of a pinky. She couldn't speak, couldn't even move her tongue, only made futile motions against the tube's walls.

“Mmmnh-ngh-ngh——!! Mnnnh!! Mmph!!”

Celia panicked. Actually panicked.

Her limbless body bounced and thrashed against the sofa like a dying fish. That bare black head swung left-right-left-right like a furious rattle, broadcasting the absolute maximum possible NO.

She even threw herself forward, ramming her head against Lillian's chest in protest, the sounds from her throat tube urgent enough to strip it raw.

Don't stop!! I'm begging you, Sensei!! Don't be gentle with me!! Play with me harder!! Treat me like equipment that can't feel pain!! Keep using me!!

Lillian was baffled by the intensity of the reaction.

“What… why such a strong response?” She held the ramming head still, genuinely at a loss. “You don't want this? But… this is clearly better for you…”

Celia was still shaking her head with everything she had, and in her agitation, the eyes beneath the latex began producing genuine tears — though she couldn't be seen crying. The desperate intensity of her need, even through all that black rubber, was unmistakable.

She twisted her torso violently — a great, stubborn black eel — and wrenched free of Lillian's arms, hitting the floor with a splat.

She didn't care about the impact. Immediately she was using her latex surface to drag herself across the carpet, inching painfully toward a familiar corner. The wooden shipping crate.

“Ah! No. 01!” Lillian scrambled after her, trying to scoop her up. “Don't just — if you want to go somewhere, indicate it! Tell me! You can't move effectively like this! And you still have those thick plugs inside — you could hurt yourself!”

But Celia was thrashing too hard. That particular brand of I will die before I give up stubbornness, combined with the fact that Lillian was quite frankly a small and not especially strong lolita, made it basically impossible to both restrain and carry her simultaneously.

“Hah… hah…” Lillian, slightly winded, followed Celia's trajectory with her eyes.

That direction — the wooden crate with its straw lining.

And at the bottom of the crate, amid the straw, a few crumpled papers. The documents that had arrived with the shipment — [Identity Verification], [Medical Certification], and [Treatment Recommendation Protocol].

“Could it be…” Lillian's scholar instincts sparked. “You want me to look at those?”

She let go, ran to the crate, reached in and retrieved the pages — somewhat damp and crinkled from yesterday's fluid output.

The moment Lillian picked up the documents, Celia went still on the floor. Instantly compliant. Lying there without moving.

Finally… she noticed. My source of happiness… it's all in those pages. Please read carefully, Sensei!!

Lillian exhaled. She walked back, resettled the latex-sealed Celia on the other end of the sofa, and sat down facing her — adjusting her position, so Celia's x-ray shared vision could clearly read her lip movements.

“No. 01 — you want me to read your diagnostic documents more carefully. Is that right?” She held up the slightly fluid-scented pages.

Celia's head came down in rapid, decisive nods.

“All right, I'll read them carefully…”

Lillian reached reflexively to push up her glasses, met smooth latex nose-bridge, remembered. She pulled her hand back awkwardly, raised the documents under the laboratory lights, and read.

The first time through she'd only skimmed for general information before redirecting to the spatial ring data. Now she read slowly — past the neat printed text, until her focus caught on a long section of nearly illegible handwriting.

The physician's treatment recommendations. She'd glossed over it the first time because the handwriting was so difficult.

Supplemental Treatment Notes:

1. Regarding chemical control: Given the patient's extreme acute stress responses, it is recommended to apply strong sedatives or deep-muscle relaxants without hesitation when necessary, for combined physical and psychological control. This is not cruelty — it is the most effective protective measure available to the patient.

Lillian paused.

“I see… so giving her that injection yesterday was completely in line with the prescribed procedure.” She felt a quiet surge of relief. She'd administered it purely because she was worried the patient would thrash and injure herself. A happy accident that turned out to be correct protocol.

She read on.

2. Regarding maintenance of physiological stimulation: The patient is currently in a state of 'dissociative self-objectification.' Her sense of self-anchoring is built upon the feeling of being intensively used. High-intensity physiological stimulation from external sources (vibration, filling, electrostimulation, etc.) effectively redirects attention and suppresses the inner void and self-destructive impulses.

3. WARNING: Do NOT arbitrarily reduce stimulation intensity! A sudden shift to comfort and emptiness will cause the patient to lose her sense of existence, triggering panic attacks and potentially worsening her condition. Conversely, gradually increasing intensity as tolerance develops is both permissible and recommended as a treatment plan.

4. Regarding restraint method: Compared to conventional bed restraints, the experimental treatment approach proposed by Miss Celia — using spatial rings to remove limbs, combined with full-coverage tight compression garments — provides stronger feelings of safety and containment. Testing confirms this is currently the optimal solution.

Lillian read every word of this professionally worded set of medical instructions. Understanding dawned.

“Now I understand…” She set the documents down and looked across at the black figure on the sofa — face unreadable, but clearly tense with anticipation of the verdict.

“That's why you reacted so strongly when I said I'd reduce the intensity… for you, that high-intensity stimulation is the lifeline holding your mind together. And 'rest' is actually a form of torment.”

Lillian looked at those lines of text, and a genuine ache of sympathy welled up.

Honestly… what a poor child. The file says she's only eighteen. About the same age as Celia. An age when life should be blooming — and instead her fate was destroyed by something that terrible. Lost her teammates, struck by a dungeon curse, now needing what amounts to torture to maintain her mental stability… it's genuinely heartbreaking.

She touched the bridge of her latex nose — or where it would have been — and drew a breath. The impulse to be gentle conceded before the weight of scientific treatment protocol.

“Since this is the specialist physician's recommendation — and Celia's healing magic does genuinely guarantee the body won't be permanently damaged…” Lillian lifted her eyes. Something resolute and clear reignited behind those green lenses.

“I understand now. As your temporary guardian and treatment assistant, I will follow the medical instructions precisely.” She looked at Celia with a gentle smile.

“Don't worry, No. 01. I have a thorough understanding of the issue of your physical stimulation tolerance now. I will attend to your 'treatment' properly — with much more dedication!”

At those words, the dread that had been lodged in Celia's throat dissolved entirely.

NICE!!! Long live Lillian!!! Long live the treatment protocol!!! Come on then!! Hang me up and electrocute me and use the vibrating probes on me!! Don't hold back!! Play me until I break!!

To express her delight, she wriggled joyfully on the sofa — a small happy black snake, though this nearly sent her off the edge again.

Lillian watched the black torso wriggling and mmnnh-ing with happiness on the sofa because it had received the assurance that intensity would not be reduced, and felt her own anxious knot unravel.

“It seems… my read on the situation was entirely correct.”

She pressed one finger to her smooth rubber chin, reviewing the medical file's core description of [Dissociative Self-Objectification] — a defence mechanism in which patients, seeking escape from the pain of being human, develop an intense desire to have their humanity stripped away; to be treated as a pure object or tool.

“Oh!” Something clicked. “Since the core of treatment is 'objectification,' perhaps the form of address matters too? I keep calling her 'No. 01' or 'Miss Volunteer' — those still sound too much like terms for a person. The respectful honorific might actually interfere with the psychological reinforcement, reminding her of the 'human identity' she's trying to escape…”

She was nothing if not thorough.

Lillian leaned forward slightly, bringing her face closer to that smooth black head, and in a voice that was almost kindergarten-teacher gentle, asked:

“That is — since your condition involves wanting to be treated as an object, would it help if I just called you '1' from now on? No 'Miss' — no honorific — just a cold, impersonal numerical designation, the way you'd label a beaker or a test tube. Would that give you more of the feeling of being an object? An experimental implement?”

Celia's heart skipped a hard beat.

Ah… 'No. 1'… just a number…

Being personally stripped of her name by the person she loves most — even the dignity of a 'Miss' taken away — addressed with the same cold detachment one would use for a laboratory beaker or a test tube…

Admittedly, in the deranged screenplay Celia's brain had been running, she'd imagined something more along the lines of Lillian fixing her with an ice-cold stare and saying, in a tone that allowed no argument: “Listen carefully, sow. From this day forward, you are my No. 1 flesh-toilet. No name required, no dignity required, just open and wait to be used.” — that absolute, unilateral declaration of fate, merciless and immovable, would have had her soaking through immediately, probably reaching climax from imagination alone.

But she understood well that the double-tailed lolita before her, though she became an emotionless data-harvesting engine the moment an experiment began, was at her core a warm and gentle creature.

Even when she was about to treat you as an object, she would first crouch down, blink her big eyes, and ask if you liked being treated that way. That respect was Lillian's own inimitable, irresistible charm.

Sigh. I can't help it — I only respond to Lillian~. This 'gentle objectification' is its own distinct, delicious flavour of appeal~.

Celia sighed blissfully inside — and then began nodding with zero hesitation.

“Mmph!! Mnnnh!!”

She nodded, and made her limbless body curl into as small and submissive a shape as it could, head bowing low — as if every line of her was saying: [Yes. Please treat me as an object. I am no longer human. I am No. 1, and I belong to you.]

“Good. I can see you prefer this form of address.” Lillian smiled with satisfaction at the vigorously nodding head.

“Then — No. 1.”

Lillian's voice was still gentle. But the simple numerical designation spoken by her carried, subtly, the quiet authority of a professor issuing a directive — and Celia shivered with a swallowed moan.

“Now that you've rested — I believe we should continue with the next phase of the treat — ah, the experiment.”

She'd been about to say treatment — reconsidered. Calling it that might remind the poor thing that she was being regarded as a person receiving care. She substituted the colder, more clinical experiment without missing a beat.

“Given the medical notes' reference to 'gradual increase in intensity'… yesterday's suspension approach yielded good data, but simple gravitational traction may have already become habituated. We need novelty.”

Lillian stood, and those green eyes behind their latex lenses swept the laboratory with purpose, finally settling on a large metal apparatus in the corner — the centrifuge, normally used to test mana-fluid centrifugal ratios.

“So this time… let's test 'spatial ring mana-reflux stability under dynamic rotation.' What do you say?”

She pointed at the great machine with the expression of a child who had just been given a very exciting new toy.

Hearing this, Celia's rubber-sealed eyes went wide.

Dynamic rotation?! The centrifuge?!

Stuffed with thick vibrating probes, all my senses sealed, and then… thrown into something that spins hundreds of times a minute?!

This is… this isn't humanly survivable?! What kind of program is this?!

Part of her screamed. Another part, a moment later, was deluged by a surge of something rawer and more overwhelming than terror.

…But that sounds… a little exciting, actually?!

At that kind of rotational speed, every drop of fluid in the body would be flung outward. Organs would be compressed. The probes would work like a blender…

That would absolutely liquefy whatever remains of my brain, wouldn't it?!

And so — under Lillian's gaze, full of academic anticipation and the particular joy of experimentation — the newly designated No. 1 did not hesitate for even a second.

She nodded.

That expression of absolute eagerness to be broken, to be tossed into a machine and used like a component — it was almost too much to look at directly.

“Excellent! I knew you'd like it!” Lillian clapped her hands with delight. “We'll start preparations immediately, No. 1!”

The Royal Magic Academy of the Novarian Empire built each floor of its research tower to the highest possible specifications. A single floor housed eighteen standard magical classrooms, wide connecting corridors, and full support facilities — nearly two thousand square meters in total.

Of that entire floor, only the men's and women's lavatories, one standard classroom repurposed as an office, and Lillian's personal office were preserved. (Largely a storage room, though there was a bed inside, and she slept there occasionally.)

All other walls had been demolished.

The result was an over sixteen-hundred-square-meter private domain belonging exclusively to Lillian Vivienne Orcott — a grand magical research laboratory that hummed with metal sheen and mana resonance.

In one corner of this metal jungle stood a special isolation chamber.

Lillian pushed the vibration-dampening wheeled transfer cart — carrying Celia, packaged like a parcel — into the room.

At its centre stood a steel leviathan.

The [High-Mana Multi-Axis Centrifugal Force Testing Apparatus].

It consisted of a massive base sunk into the floor, a thick alloy rotation arm that required two people to embrace fully, and at the arm's end, a reinforced metal pod capable of 360-degree unrestricted tumbling. Its original purpose: testing the behaviour of high-concentration mana fluids under extreme gravitational conditions, and examining the internal structural stability of military magical implements during violent manoeuvring.

“The single-person pod is a bit small, but for No. 1 — having had the limbs removed — it should be just right.”

Lillian, fully in the mode of emotionless experiment state, honoured the spirit of the medical directive specifying no need to consult the object's preferences. She didn't glance at Celia at all. She went directly to the control console.

“Opening pod.”

With a hiss of depressurization, the high-strength transparent reinforced glass lid rose. Inside: a cylindrical space for exactly one person.

Lillian thought for a moment, turned, and retrieved several large drums from a nearby shelf labelled [Industrial Grade Magical Instrument Lubricant].

“High-speed rotation will produce rigid impacts. Easy to damage the sample. Let's add a buffering medium.”

She raised her wand and cast [Fluid Multiplication Formula], pouring the viscous transparent lubricant into the pod. Instantly it expanded, filling the cylinder, forming a soft, slick, buoyant cushion.

“Come on, in you go.”

She picked up the smooth black latex torso and, with the manner of loading ammunition into a cannon, inserted Celia into the cylinder of lubricant.

“Squelch~.”

Height-wise: a perfect fit. Celia's body was gripped on all sides, surrounded by the cool, slick liquid. A special clamp secured her head — leaving only the black latex skull above the surface to breathe.

To ensure complete stability, Lillian didn't stop there. She cast [Spatial Confinement: Fixed Point], then crouched and reached into the lubricant, finding both probe bases protruding from between Celia's thighs.

“Secure — link.”

A flash of a binding rune, and both probe bases locked immovably to the floor of the pod — as though welded.

In that moment, Celia was no longer a person, and no longer an independent object. She was a component of the machine itself — a core element plugged into a housing.

Done. Lillian stepped out of the isolation chamber and pulled the heavy door shut behind her.

“Click — click — click.” Three clear metallic lock-sounds. The end of Celia's freedom. The beginning of this hellscape of an experiment.

Lillian stood at the control console on the other side of the blast-proof glass. She pressed the red launch button.

“To verify spatial ring stability — full system activation.”

Command issued. The two probes that had been dormant for the night — the forty-centimetre [Rectal Probe] and the thirty-centimetre [Bio-Electrical Stimulator] — plus the nerve-end test rings on Celia's nipples and clit, all woke simultaneously.

“Nnnng — zzzt-zzzt —”

Low-frequency vibration began. That familiar fullness and the electrical numbness spread across her body at once, pulling an involuntary shudder from the Celia floating in the lubricant.

“Good. Pod sealed.”

The glass canopy descended and locked. Celia was fully cut off from the outside world. Through the thick transparent shell she could only see a blurred black double-tailed silhouette.

“Starting warm-up at low speed… 3G load, initiating!” Lillian's dispassionate voice came through the in-pod magic speaker. The pronouncement of judgment.

The next second, the steel leviathan woke.

“RRRMMMBBLE——!!”

The great arm began its slow turn, carrying the pod through a wide circle in the air. At first, gentle — Celia felt almost as if she were in a cradle. Faintly pleasant.

But the speed began to climb. Exponentially.

“WHOOOOSH——!!”

The air split with a shriek. Even through the sealed pod, the terrifying pressure was palpable.

When velocity passed the threshold, the centrifugal force bared its teeth.

Ngh?! An invisible giant hand slammed Celia into the lubricant-slicked wall of the pod. Every drop of blood in her body seemed to drain in an instant — surging to her backside and lower body.

And the accumulated fluid inside — a full night's worth of urine and slick — under 3G, those became heavy lead weights pressing mercilessly on her bladder floor. The verge-of-incontinence, held-shut-by-physics distension amplified tenfold.

More frightening: the probes. Both had been mere filling inside her. Under the overload, they became weights of stone.

The rectal probe, fixed in place, felt as though it would physically punch through her intestinal wall. The vaginal rod was pinned against her cervix, and with every tiny rotational shift, the microscopic movement raked across deep tissue — a blunt-edged agony that made breathing difficult. Her lungs could barely re-expand against the compression.

“Mmmph-ngh-ngh-ngh——!!!” Celia tried to scream; the throat tube and hood swallowed it. She could only roll her eyes white and absorb the first wave.

“Mm… subject's vitals stable, minor fluctuation in spatial ring mana reflux. She can take more.” Lillian, watching the data curves on screen, nodded with satisfaction.

“Increase. Engage multi-axis tumble mode. Let's see how the mana circuit holds under spatial disorientation.” She pushed the joystick without hesitation.

The centrifuge — previously only swinging in a horizontal plane — began to pitch and yaw in wild, irregular tumbles. The pod itself began rotating on its own axis.

The world inverted.

One second: head up. The next: feet up. Ceiling, floor, Lillian's distant silhouette — all bled into a spinning, fusing smear of colour and light.

Her vestibular system gave up entirely, firing off a last desperate scream before shutting down. Vertigo like a hammer to the temple. The world was spinning in all directions at once.

Ah, ah ah… I'm done… everything's rotating… my brain is rocking… ngh~!

Inside her body, every liquid went chaotic. Urine sloshed in the bladder. Slick surged in the uterus. Nutrient paste tumbled in the stomach.

And worst, best, most maddening: the two probes, fixed. As her body was flung and tumbled in the lubricant, anchored in place, they stirred.

Hammering the G-spot. Grinding the anterior wall. Pounding, with each rotation, against the deepest, softest point at the end of her cervix.

This uncontrollable, erratic, internal violence — paired with the overwhelming vertigo, with alternating weightlessness and crushing overload — somehow produced a species of pleasure that had never existed before.

Ugghhhh ♥~! Dying… gonna die… spinning… so dizzy, so sick… but it FEELS so GOOD ahhhhhh ♥!!

Like being thrown into a washing machine… tumbled into a pile of ruined, discarded waste together with the toys ♥~!

Celia rolled her eyes back in that spinning transparent pod, drool trailing down the throat tube, mixing with the surrounding lubricant. Her body spasmed without control in the viscous fluid; her pussy and urethra surrendered entirely, ejecting fluid that was immediately scattered by the centrifugal force into the lubricant.

In the embrace of this steel leviathan, she was fully reduced to a component being stirred, a part being used, experiencing the ultimate vertigo and orgasm of being an object.

In the large isolation chamber, the roar of the machine had long since climbed from deep thrum to shrill tearing.

“Beep — Current load: 4G.” The warning lights on the console flickered yellow.

Inside the pod, Celia had reached the edge of human physiological tolerance. Under the disordered G-forces of multi-axis tumbling, her vision had fragmented entirely — oscillating between the ink-black blackout of positive-G blood-pooling in the legs, to the crimson redout of negative-G blood flooding the head. If not for the tough magic latex hood clamping her eye sockets firmly, her eyeballs might have been flung free.

The probes under 4G were no longer mere pressure. They were two heated iron rods trying to physically tear her open from within.

“Mm… the data fluctuations are getting interesting at 4G…” Lillian watched the mana curve begin to kick and spike, and the fervour in her eyes intensified.

“It seems like at 4G, the spatial barrier shows micro-displacement… if I push further, would I observe deeper spatial tearing phenomena?”

She gripped the joystick without hesitation.

“Increase RPM. Target: 8G!”

The centrifuge roared. The arm accelerated without pause.

5G… 6G…

“—CRACK—!!”

Celia felt as though a freight truck had hit her directly in the chest. Her lungs emptied instantly. Her ribcage produced a sound it was not designed to make.

7G… 8G!!

Hell arrived.

What had been stirring probes became two merciless saws. Under 8G, the rectal probe bored through the rectal mucosa. The vaginal rod shattered the tissue of her cervical os.

“Zzzt — fsssht!!”

Blood bloomed inside her.

And simultaneously: cerebral vasculature, stretched past its limit by the negative G's, began to rupture one by one. Her eyeballs pressed into their sockets until only her healing formula stood between her and permanent damage.

“— — — !!!”

Consciousness severed. This was genuine physiological pre-death — cerebral ischaemia, organ rupture, systemic haemorrhage.

And in that moment of approaching death — the seven-day [Sacred Healing Level: Advanced Recovery Formula] passively triggered.

Gold light flared beneath the black latex.

Ruptured vessels re-sealed in an instant. Fractured ribs fused in the blink of an eye. Pulped organs reassembled in a second.

“Hah—!”

Celia, one foot through the gate of death, was dragged bodily back.

At the control console outside, Lillian blinked.

“Oh! Right — No. 1 is a normal non-mana person, isn't she!” She looked at the heart-rate monitor on screen — riding a roller coaster — and remembered this fact.

“8G overload… a normal human's body would have turned to paste by now, wouldn't it?”

She blinked. Was aware of the danger. Her hand on the joystick showed no sign of reaching for the emergency stop. If anything it tensed slightly, pushing toward 10G.

“But… I'm so close to the peak value… just a little more. I'll treat and measure simultaneously!”

This, perhaps, was what made this particular genius magister truly alarming — her solution to the experiment is dangerous was never stop the experiment. It was always find a way to keep going.

Lillian raised her other hand, aimed it through the blast-proof glass at the spinning pod.

“Over-tier sacred technique — [Breath of Life: Continuous Infusion]!!”

A visible jade-green column of light drove through the glass and wrapped around the black figure bouncing between life and death.

Celia entered true infinite purgatory.

10G! “Fsssht!!”

The body collapsed again. Every capillary in her skin burst. Organs displaced. Her brain became paste in a single instant.

The healing triggered.

“Zzt…”

Repaired in full. The tearing agony hadn't even finished processing before the new-flesh tingling replaced it — and then the tearing began again.

She was a rag doll thrown into an industrial blender. Every cell screamed, rejoiced, burned itself to nothing for the sake of Lillian's damned experimental data.

In that frantically spinning steel coffin, Celia's thoughts had been fully blended away. She could no longer form a complete it hurts or a complete it feels good.

Only shattered sounds. The residue of a soul squeezed by extreme pressure past its ability to produce language.

Ugghh ♥… dying… broken… yes ♥!

Mmmph… owner… Lilli… ahhh!

In the loop of death and resurrection cycling dozens of times per second, pain and pleasure had lost their distinction entirely.

Being pulverized was pleasure. Being repaired was pleasure. Even the two probes mashing her organs into something unrecognizable had become the sole real anchor connecting her to the world.

Ugggh… mnnnh… num… is… Lilli ♥!!

And outside the pod, that innocent and guileless lolita professor was recording the precious data bought with blood and spirit, her face flushed with excitement.

One hand noting, the other feeding more power to the healing formula — careful, considerate, not wanting her experimental instrument to actually break.

“Hang in there, No. 1! The data collection is almost done! Your physiological responses are remarkable! Just a little more! Let me see if you can hold at 12G!”

Lillian's voice through the speaker carried a purity and a fervour that was, depending on one's perspective, either endearing or deeply alarming.

And she pushed the joystick to the mark labelled 12.

Everything in Celia's mind went white.

“RRRMMMBBLE————!!”

12G.

Twelve times the force of gravity. The equivalent of twelve people of her own body weight pressing simultaneously into every corner of her being.

When Lillian pushed that joystick, the world didn't just collapse — it was compressed into a point.

If 10G was a blender, 12G was a hydraulic press — precise and brutal.

The probes that had been churning inside her became two pillars of absolute immovability — gravity had pinned them in place like bolts. They no longer thrust. Instead, they exerted that irresistible force outward in all directions, flattening her intestinal walls, her uterine walls — spreading them thin.

“— — — !!!”

She tried to scream. Her vocal cords had been pressed flat.

In a single instant, her visual field went from black to white to a cascading aurora of near-death hallucination.

Her eyeballs were being pushed back into her skull. Her optic nerves sang the chord before snapping. Her heart felt like a balloon being squeezed to detonation, each beat requiring the entire output of her body.

Her brain was shunted sideways inside her skull. Thought: gone.

But under the dual healing formulas — her own and Lillian's — this physical obliteration became something else. A slow-motion replay of a demolition, with the wreckage rebuilt faster than it fell.

She could feel each vessel bursting with its warmth. Each muscle tearing with its particular sharp pleasure. Each organ being pressed out of shape with its maddening sensation of wrongness.

And most astonishing: under pressure past every conceivable limit, her pleasure nerves — which should have long since shut down — experienced something called compensatory eruption.

Pain pushed past the extreme became numbness. Fear pushed past the extreme became ecstasy.

In that instant, Celia felt herself dissolve into a formless liquid mass, merged with the lubricant that surrounded her. No longer a person. An organic substance that existed purely to receive pressure.

Ah… melting… fully melting…

Is this… what being broken feels like… is this… what becoming waste feels like…

Lillian… so heavy… so deep… this love that presses the soul to dust… it's wonderful… it's so wonderfully wonderful ahhhhhhhh ♥!!——————

“Phew… 12G. That's the ceiling for now.”

At the console, Lillian exhaled. Her latex-gloved fingers danced over the keyboard, archiving the massive mana-reflux data burst.

She looked at the screen — cognitive function registering as complete mush, heart rate still beating with inexplicable ferocity — and the last thread of her experimental humanity held the line that was called sustainable research practice.

“There's probably more to extract at higher values… but if I go further, the structural damage to the cerebral cortex may outpace the healing rate, even with dual coverage.”

She pressed where her glasses would have been and analysed calmly: “That would result in permanent intellectual degradation. Genuinely stupid. And then the next five days of observation would yield no useful feedback. What a waste that would be.”

She spoke as an engineer calculating the service life of a high-performance biological battery. No other framework applied.

The time was approximately 8 PM on the second day of Celia's self-delivered captivity. Five full days remained of this seven-day hellscape experiment.

“Click — click — click.” Three clear unlock sounds. The gates of hell, opening.

Lillian pushed into the isolation chamber. The sharp bite of ozone and the fermented compound of several bodily fluids hit her immediately.

She reached the pod. Pressed the red pressure release valve.

“HISSSSS——!!”

A blast of scalding white steam erupted — warm body heat, salty perspiration, the abundant dairy-sweet milky scent of extreme fear and arousal that had been building inside the sealed vessel.

Lillian didn't flinch. She pressed close to the still-steaming transparent shell and looked inside at No. 1.

Celia had lost every trace of dignity and presence that belonged to a person. Her entire body was submerged in the lubricant — now turbid grey-white with the diluted remnants of blood, urine, slick, and milk.

The sustained half-hour of high-intensity testing had destroyed and rebuilt her so many times that although the healing formula had mended her bones and organs completely, leaving her body outwardly intact — the memory of death and the extreme pleasure carved into her nervous system continued to vibrate without cessation.

“No. 1? How do you feel?” Lillian opened the head clamp and patted the scalp — smooth, still fever-hot, covered in lubricant.

“Mmph… nyeh… mnnnh… ♥” No logical response.

The eyes behind the latex were rolled to their maximum, showing white almost entirely, the vivid green irises unfocused and adrift. The throat tube, bitten slightly out of shape by the convulsions, leaked white foam and clear saliva in a continuous stream, making the chest plate of the black latex shine.

The body still shook in high-frequency micro-tremors — the aftermath of electrocution.

Especially below. Both probes — fixed to the pod floor — continued at maximum frequency. The skin of her lower abdomen rippled in visible waves from the vibration. The hollow spaces that had been emptied by the extremity of effort were already seeping again — thin, sticky fluids threading into the surrounding lubricant.

Celia's mind had been reduced to powder under 12G. She could no longer process pain as pain, or fear as fear.

She only knew: when Lillian's fingertips touched her scalp, the shiver of being noticed by her owner detonated another small chain of ecstasy at the absolute end of her limit.

“Mm, consciousness hasn't fully recovered. Residual anterior vestibular disruption from the 12G exposure?”

Completely without awareness of the degree of madness she had just engaged in, Lillian simply extended a finger and prodded Celia's lubricant-slicked chest with academic curiosity.

“Subcutaneous tissue elasticity good, mana circuit conduction smooth. Considerable fluid output, but overall structural resilience significantly exceeds projections.”

She looked at the still-seeping nipple, and nodded with satisfaction.

“The medical notes were right. For a patient with No. 1's condition — the more brutal the physical stimulation, the more effective the psychological compensation. From this highly 'energetic'” — she meant the convulsions — “response, I'd say the self-destructive impulses from the curse have been substantially suppressed.”

And with that, she bent down — those small black hands parting the thick cloudy lubricant without hesitation — and lifted the utterly dissolved black figure from its liquid bed.

“Fsssht——!” Both probes, their bases welded to the pod floor, were wrenched free from her body as she was lifted out — staying behind. Lillian would drain the waste fluid from the pod and retrieve the probes later.

The wet, clinging, sucking sound of her body separating from the lubricant filled the quiet room in a way that was very loud and very obscene.

Lillian cradled Celia, letting the turbid fluid drip down her own black latex and slide away along the curves.

She looked down at the thing in her arms — still convulsing, still instinctively leaking and offering — and her eyes held the warm, approving tenderness of an elder for a child.

“Good girl, No. 1. You performed magnificently in today's warm-up experiment. The data collection was perfect. That's all because of you.”

She pressed a light kiss near the breath-holes in Celia's faceplate, and said with an innocently cruel gentleness: “As a reward — for the next five days, I'll prepare more interesting, more varied, higher-intensity 'experimental programs.' Please hold together until you've helped me calculate the final upper limit of the spatial ring's tolerance ♥.”

Hearing the words higher intensity, Celia — who had been in mid-tremor — seemed to receive fresh stimulus. Her pussy's hold on itself dissolved, and a clear stream of arousal fluid fell against Lillian's lower abdomen.

“Such a lively, hardworking girl~.”

Lillian hummed a light little tune, held her No. 1 — utterly ruined and utterly happy — and walked through the wreckage of the room toward the wash station.

To be continued~

P.S.: The play in this chapter was inspired while I was watching a Bilibili video about China's nuclear development history — specifically the part about using a centrifuge to spin popsicles — and it made me think of this. I even went and asked an AI what would happen if you put a human in a centrifuge, and then used the resulting information and G-values to write out the effects on the body one by one~. I think this play is probably unprecedented. Please comment and bookmark lots to give me motivation! On the mobile app, tap the centre of the screen and the bottom will show my avatar, with a “︿” symbol beside it — tap that and scroll down to find the comment section.

Chapter 5

Archived Version

The washroom attached to the laboratory wasn't large, but it was fully equipped. White ceramic tile walls reflected a clean sheen under cold, clinical lighting. At the centre stood an oversized stainless-steel rinse basin — large enough for two people — designed to accommodate the flushing of certain bulky equipment.

Lillian hummed a bright, nameless little tune, cradling the black human-rod that still twitched occasionally like a body receiving electric shocks, and stepped into this space that smelled of steam and antiseptic.

“Come on, lie still like a good girl, Number One.”

She first set Celia gently down onto the metal drain grate at the bottom of the basin.

Without her limbs for support, that body was now like a limp piece of black jelly, spreading out along the curve of the grate, utterly pliable and at anyone's mercy.

The glossy black latex suit that had been so sleek and pristine before now looked absolutely wrecked — smeared all over with an assortment of murky fluids: greyish-white industrial lubricant, pale-yellow urine stains, dried white foam at the corners of the mouth, and vast swathes of transparent, viscous, thread-pulling slick, all mixed together and emanating a scent that made the cheeks flush and the heart quicken.

Lillian showed no sign of disgust. She picked up the shower head, turned the tap, and tested the temperature with the back of her hand.

“Mm. Warm water. Just right.”

“Shhhhh——!” A cascade of warm water poured down, rinsing Celia's ravaged body from head to toe.

The moment that comfortable warmth made contact with her skin, the last taut thread in Celia's nerves finally went slack. Her whole body gave a single violent shudder, and through the deep-throat tube in her mouth came a long, comfortable, languid moan: uuurrgh~~……

The thoughts that had been shattered by centrifugal force began, piece by piece, to drift back into her mind like puzzle pieces coming together as the filth was washed away.

Lillian wasn't wearing gloves — she was in the same black latex suit herself, so there was nothing to worry about getting dirty. She simply squeezed a palm full of the magical foam cleanser with its degreasing and antiseptic properties directly onto her hands and began spreading it over Celia's body.

Those small hands encased in black latex began gliding across Celia's skin, working in slow circles, coaxing up a fine, dense lather of white foam.

“Face first~.” Starting from that smooth, hairless head, Lillian's fingers carefully cleaned the residual foam and saliva around the breathing ports, her movements as delicate as someone wiping down a piece of precious porcelain.

Then she slid downward along the slender neck, gliding past the pair of nipples that still stood erect and sensitive, even slightly swollen.

“There's still some milk residue here...” Lillian's fingers gently worked into the fold of skin pinched around the base of each nipple by the metal ring, scraping away the dried, flaked residue there.

That subtle, precise stimulation made the freshly wrecked Celia shudder again, her nipples flooding with blood and hardening once more.

Next came the flat, taut belly. From the prolonged vibration and centrifugal compression, the muscles there were still cramping and twitching. Lillian gently worked her palm in slow circles over the area, soothing it the way one might comfort a badly frightened puppy.

And finally, the heaviest disaster zone of all — the lower half.

Lillian showed no hesitation whatsoever, reaching straight between Celia's thighs. She first removed the shower head from the hose, leaving only the nozzle tube itself. Then she tilted up Celia's rounded hip stumps slightly and directed the bare tube at the junction of all three openings.

The area was an absolute mess. The pussy and asshole were both draped in sticky, thread-pulling slick — the aftermath of that extreme climax — and through the ultra-thin black latex one could actually see the pinkish-flesh colour of the slightly prolapsed edges, swollen from prolonged dilation.

Lillian used one hand to spread apart Celia's two tightly closed labia, letting the warm water stream flush into the most hidden recesses.

“We need to rinse out the filth inside too…”

She patiently worked the stream through those two deep furrows, her fingers even dipping inside slightly, hooking out the murky residual lubricant and the liquid waste that hadn't fully drained earlier.

Uurrrgh♥~!

This hygienic intrusion was gentler than the violent churning of before by a factor of ten thousand, yet it stirred in Celia a shame and comfort that rose from somewhere deep in her soul.

Ahh~, Lillian's hands… so smooth, so gentle~.

She just threw me in that centrifuge so cruelly a little while ago, spinning me around like a piece of garbage to be played with, and now she's so carefully bathing me, cleaning away all this shameful fluid…

This feeling of being looked after like a beloved pet dog is really, truly wonderful~! I'm Lillian's cleanest little bitch♥~!

Ten minutes later, the rinse was complete. Lillian shut off the water and reached for a large, absorbent bath towel, wrapping Celia in it like a newborn and holding her close while she carefully patted away every last water droplet.

“There. Done. Washed up all nice and fresh.” Lillian looked down at the Celia cradled in her arms — now jet-black and gleaming again, reflecting the light, carrying the faint scent of lemon body wash — and gave a satisfied nod.

Although the [Self-Cleaning Magical Latex Suit] that Celia wore had powerful self-cleaning capabilities that would slowly break down and absorb surface and internal contaminants on their own, for a scholar as methodical as Lillian, this manually conducted “cleansing ritual” felt more like the habit of carefully dismantling and maintaining a precision instrument after an experiment was concluded.

“Oh, right — I need to go get those two internal mana-monitoring devices and wash them too.”

Lillian suddenly remembered: those two enormous implements that had been inside Number One just a little while ago — the 40 cm rectal probe and the 30 cm bioelectric stimulator — were currently sitting alone and abandoned on the mounting base inside the centrifuge chamber.

“Equipment that precise can't be left soaking in biological waste for long.”

And so, carrying the freshly-washed-and-smelling-nice Celia, Lillian walked out of the washroom and settled her gently down on the wide, comfortable leather sofa in the main hall.

“Stay here and be good for a moment, okay? Big sister needs to go tidy up a few things.”

Once Celia was settled, Lillian turned and walked back into the isolation laboratory, where a faint lingering odour still hung in the air. She first stopped on the near side of the heavy blast-proof glass wall and operated the control panel with practiced ease.

“Draining waste fluid——.” With a whir of mechanical operation, the valve at the bottom of the centrifuge chamber opened, and the murky lubricant was drawn away into the waste fluid processing pipes.

Once she confirmed through the glass that the chamber had been emptied, Lillian pushed open the isolation door and stepped inside. The chamber lid had already swung open during the earlier pressure-release sequence. Lillian walked up to that enormous machine, rose onto her tiptoes, leaned over the edge, and reached in to retrieve the two vibration probes secured to the base.

“It's a bit deep in there…” Because the chamber was cylindrical and just deep enough to hold a person, the bottom was a bit of a reach for petite Lillian. She had to lean her upper body inside, both hands braced against the inner rim of the chamber for leverage.

What she had failed to account for was this: although most of the waste fluid had been drained away, a significant coating of extremely slick industrial-grade lubricant remained on the chamber walls.

The moment her centre of gravity shifted forward — shhklp! — the latex-covered palm she had braced against the rim slipped without any warning whatsoever.

“Huh?!” Lillian barely managed a single startled yelp before she completely lost her balance.

Thud!

She went in headfirst, completely inverted, toppling straight down into the cylindrical chamber like an upended plant being repotted.

“That hurt! Oww,~~!”

The residual lubricant cushioned the fall somewhat, but she still hit hard enough to see stars. And to make matters considerably worse, the smell that immediately engulfed her inside the chamber — that complex atmosphere of residual body fluid, lubricant, and indescribable biological scent that had accumulated from Celia — closed around her instantaneously. That sticky, wet-all-over sensation raised every hair on her body.

Lillian scrabbled and flailed, trying to get upright, but this was no easy task on the smooth, rounded chamber floor. After a considerable struggle, she managed to shift her position and ended up kneeling on the floor of the chamber.

And the moment she settled into that kneeling position — she froze.

Because of the way she'd landed, the two massive vibration rods still firmly secured to the base were positioned one in front and one behind, cradled between her now-kneeling, spread thighs.

The shorter one in front — the bioelectric stimulator — was aligned directly with her pubic symphysis. The longer, thicker one behind — the rectal probe — pressed snugly against her coccyx.

Two enormous, still-radiating-warmth, faintly musky objects stood before her like a pair of insurmountable towers, anchored between her legs, mere centimetres from her most private places.

Lillian stared at these two things.

In the experiment prior, they had been nothing but cold data collection instruments. But now, facing them from this obscene and viscerally direct angle, the visual impact was nothing short of obliterating.

“This… these are so big…”

As if compelled by something outside herself, she reached out and held her hand next to the thick shaft of the rectal probe for comparison. Its 10 cm diameter was wider around than her own wrist. Its length exceeded her forearm.

“Just now… Number One took both of these inside herself?” An image formed unbidden in Lillian's mind: if these two objects were pushed inside her own compact body… how far in would they reach?

The front one would surely punch through the cervix, right? The back one would probably push all the way up to the stomach. Would her belly be distended into that terrifying shape?

Gulp. Lillian swallowed involuntarily, her throat going dry.

A peculiar, spreading heat began to rise from somewhere inside her. She felt a sudden, impossible-to-ignore itch and hunger from her pussy under the suit, and from that sensitive little bud that happened to be pressed right up against the base of the front vibration rod.

“Wh… what's happening to me…” Lillian clamped her thighs together in a mild panic — which only caused her inner thighs to press more tightly against both shafts. That cold, hard sensation sent a full-body shiver through her.

Nn-ngh~, hah~, hahh♥~. Lillian's breathing grew slightly ragged. The face concealed inside her black latex hood was flushing with a colour that had no business being there. She wasn't a woman without desires, but she also wasn't someone who went into heat at the drop of a hat.

That said — as a 32-year-old woman who had never so much as held a man's hand, the physiological needs that had been suppressed beneath the halo of academic achievement were like an undertow lurking in the deep ocean: invisible when calm, catastrophic when the levee broke.

At home, in fact, Lillian's personal habits were what one might charitably describe as… uninhibited.

In pursuit of ultimate comfort (which really meant laziness), she wore essentially nothing around the house — at most, a pair of stockings. And for convenience's sake when using the bathroom, she had a strong preference for crotchless hosiery. In summer, she'd wear just a pair of thin crotchless black stockings under a light silk throw blanket. In winter, the same idea but in a fleece-lined all-in-one version, topped with a small soft blanket, and she'd drift around her apartment like that without a care in the world.

Her method of self-gratification had its own distinctive character as well. Whenever the mood struck, she'd draw the curtains, retrieve the erotic memory-stones she'd discreetly purchased, and watch while working her fingers against herself through the fabric of her stockings. She liked the friction of being touched through hosiery. She liked the way she'd peel off a pair she'd been wearing all day — warm with her own body heat, carrying the fermented feminine musk of a full day's wear — pull them onto her hand, hold that hand up to her nose for a long, deliberate inhale, and then use it to rub frantically at her clit and pussy.

This long-established lifestyle of “semi-nudity” and “stocking-mediated G-spot masturbation” had cultivated the sensitivity of Lillian's lower half to a terrifying baseline level. Even having never been touched by another person, the slightest provocation could bring her to full arousal almost instantaneously.

And right now. She was inside a sealed, narrow cylinder slicked with viscous liquid. Her entire body was pinned by the snug embrace of the [Self-Cleaning Magical Latex Suit]. Its fit, its compression, and even its breathability surpassed any stocking she had ever loved. And because of the internal-inversion-fill design, she felt as though her labia and asshole were being gently pressed by a warm fingertip at every single moment.

Most critically of all, her body was currently spread in the most humiliating M-shaped kneel, straddling two enormous implements fully capable of shattering any woman's sanity.

“So… so itchy, mm-ngh♥~.” Lillian let out a moan that could have pulled taffy, and unconsciously rolled her hips.

With that movement, the thick industrial lubricant trapped between her inner thighs and the latex let out a lewd, squelching gloop gloop sound, obscene beyond description.

Her pussy — already a little damp from the social catastrophe of earlier — was now being squeezed from front and back simultaneously by these two rigid shafts, and that pressure communicated itself directly to her most sensitive nerve endings.

The 30 cm bioelectric stimulator in front had a sharply ridged base that pressed with unerring precision against Lillian's clit, which had already hardened from arousal and was throbbing wildly against the inside of her suit. That hard, cold, yet utterly immovable sensation ground against her with every sharp breath she drew. Every exhale was a tiny jolt of electricity.

Nnh♥~, mm~, this feeling… this feeling♥~ mm-nyeeh♥~! Lillian's focus started to scatter. She bit down on her lower lip, letting out soft, helpless whimpers. The rational levee was being swamped by a tide of primal want.

She looked at the probe before her — the one that had just been pulled from Number One's body a little while ago. It still seemed to hold the faint warmth and biological trace of that girl.

If… if I were also like Number One, and swallowed something like this with my pussy…

Once that thought sprouted like a weed, it couldn't be pushed back down. Her small hands trembling, she reached out and touched the black shaft, tracing its finely engraved mana circuits. The texture was incredibly delicate, carrying the barest ghost of an electric current — it made her fingertips go numb and tingly.

“Nngh! No! No no no! Lillian! What do you think you're doing!” Her mouth said the words, attempting to rally the rational self. But her body was breathtakingly honest. Not only did she make no attempt to climb out of this temptation-soaked pit, she actually pretended to slip, then pressed her body deliberately downward.

The layer of black latex dimpled inward under the pressure of the base, sinking deep into the cleft between her tender labia, carving out a taut, deep groove.

The frantic, frustrated sensation of being brutally pressed against by a foreign object yet unable to feel it through that single thin membrane made Lillian's throat produce a low sound like an animal in heat.

“Nnn-ohh♥~~, b-but… just… just a little test, that's all… I won't put it in… just grind against the outside a bit… that's all… mm♥~!” Lillian murmured to herself in a self-hypnotic haze, constructing the perfect excuse.

Her small hand groped through the slick fluid until it found the black dial on the vibration rod's base — the physical power switch.

“Just… just a tiny bit of vibration. Just to test it…” Face burning, she stretched out her trembling fingers and gently turned the dial.

“HMMMMMMM————!!!!!!”

Lillian's heart stopped for a solid beat. The two steel behemoths locked to the base detonated into a powerful vibration strong enough to send her soul floating out of her body.

“HYEEEEEEEEEEEH♥———!!!!!!”

Lillian let out a high, piercing shriek, her whole body lurching backward, both hands flying open to brace against the chamber walls — only to slip on the lubricant-coated surface, leaving her scrabbling uselessly against the smooth interior, producing a frantic ssshkk ssshkk sound.

Even at the lowest setting, mechanical vibration applied directly to sensitive points was horrifying. The base of the front rod was like a pile-driver with a motor inside it, hammering mercilessly at her clit through that one thin layer of latex. The high-frequency tingling shot up through the clitoral nerve directly to the cerebral cortex, shredding her reason to confetti.

The 40 cm behemoth at the rear, meanwhile, was slapping rhythmically against her tailbone and tightly closed asshole, each vibration pulsing like a knock on a door deep inside her body.

Being sandwiched between two torture-device vibrators, assailed from front and back, subjected to relentless friction and oscillation — it drove Lillian, thirty-two years a virgin, to the very edge of collapse in an instant.

“Hnngh~! Nyeeah!! Breaking… I'm breaking apart♥!” Her mouth said she couldn't take it and was being ruined, but the honesty of her body was staggering.

She began rolling her hips instinctively on the chamber floor, actively pushing back against the manic vibration, trying to get the vibrating ridges to dig more precisely into the groove of her, even through the suit — any deeper contact at all. The black latex shrieked with friction in the slick and the shaking.

The gentle, dignified professor she appeared to be in daily life had vanished entirely. In her place was a creature in heat, fallen into a trap of her own design, being driven out of her mind by something ancient and unstoppable.

In the throes of extreme pleasure, she even began to sink into darker fantasies: If… if someone were to reach in from outside right now and press down on my shoulders, slam that locked lid shut! And then push my ass down hard on these two rods~~, let them pierce right through that membrane, run through my body, shove deep into my uterus and intestines and just stir~~♥!

“Nnnn… help~! It feels so good… I need it♥~!” Lillian rolled her eyes back, transparent saliva dripping from the tip of her tongue onto the still-vibrating probe. She had crumpled into a heap inside that narrow, slicked-down chamber, twitching, utterly drowned in the paradise-hell this steel monster had manufactured.

“NYEEEH————♥!! I'm comiiing♥!!!!”

With a cry sharp enough to pierce through the isolation glass, Lillian arrived at the most riotously intense climax of her virgin existence, right there inside that lubricant-filled cylindrical chamber.

She clamped her thighs with crushing force around the high-frequency [Bioelectric Stimulator], clinging to it like an octopus. The thick shaft mercilessly stretched her pussy through the suit; both labia, already engorged and swollen, and that unbearably sensitive clit were being frantically rubbed and ground against the textured surface.

The dam named Reason finally gave way completely.

“Shhhhptt————!!!!!”

A uterus that had gone far too long without release — and had probably never experienced anything like this in its life — went into violent convulsions and then contracted sharply, and from that clenched, sealed pussy spurted jet after jet of sticky, whitish, hormone-drenched slick.

Those fluids, under the combined action of gravity and vibration, sprayed outward and not only thoroughly soaked the black shaft of the [Bioelectric Stimulator] between her thighs, but splashed considerably onto the latex of her inner thighs, running down the gleaming surface.

“Hahh~~! Hahh~~! Hahh~~!”

The vibration subsided. Lillian knelt in that pool of mess, chest heaving violently, the hot breath from her teardrop-shaped mouth-opening carrying a faint sweet-musky scent. The small face hidden beneath the latex was tomato-red, and her eyes stayed unfocused for a good long while.

Only after the lust that had been driven to its absolute limit finally, slowly, ebbed away did the highlands of “shame” and “rationality” get reclaimed.

“My god… I… what have I done…”

Lillian, somewhat drained, pressed against the slick chamber wall and wobbled to her feet. She looked down at her own ruined thighs, and at those two vibration rods still coated with her release, and wanted nothing more than to cast an Obliviate on the spot.

“Quick, turn it off!” She reached down in a frantic scramble and snapped the dial on the base back to OFF with a sharp click. The deafening hum finally vanished, and the world went quiet.

Then she drew a deep breath, steadied her still-trembling legs, and cancelled the binding magic.

“Release — fixed link.” With the mana circuit on the base going dark, the two demonic instruments at last came free. Lillian hauled them out with considerable effort, cradling the 40 cm and 30 cm monsters in her arms like a person wrestling cumbersome logs.

“So heavy… and so slippery…”

She tried to climb out of the chamber, but between the industrial lubricant still coating the walls and her own bodily fluids, the interior was smoother than an ice rink. Her small latex-wrapped feet found no purchase; several attempts ended with her sliding back down in an undignified heap.

“There's nothing for it…” Lillian set her jaw and resorted to magic.

“Levitate.” With the standard incantation, her body rose as though gravity had been revoked, gliding upward along with the two enormous implements in her arms, drifting out of the cylindrical chamber like a ghost.

The moment her feet touched the ground, Lillian behaved exactly like a child who had done something she shouldn't and was terrified of being caught. Clutching those two devices still marked with her own evidence (her fluids), she turned and fled without looking back toward the washroom.

“I have to… I have to clean these immediately! No trace can remain!” she screamed internally as she ran.

What this panicked genius professor did not know, however, was that the thrilling, ten-minute-long “in-chamber riding self-pleasure performance” she had just concluded was not a solo act.

Back in the main hall, on the leather sofa.

Celia, who was supposed to be sitting quietly and resting, was currently sitting perfectly rigid, like a piece of wood. But if you looked closely, you would notice her limbless body was trembling with the finest possible vibration, and the latex at her crotch was slowly, unmistakably darkening with a spreading wet patch.

Because the [Clairvoyant Link / Visual Share] that Lillian had cast on her earlier for the sake of communication had not been cancelled.

And to make matters infinitely more potent — the version Lillian had applied was her own personal version with a “high-grade optical correction function” built in. (The professor was severely nearsighted and couldn't make out distant details without assistance.)

This meant that although Celia was seated on a sofa a dozen or more meters from the isolation lab, with a thick blast-proof glass wall between them — in her visual field, everything that had just taken place was as crisp and detailed as footage from a 4K camera shoved directly in someone's face.

She had watched, with perfect clarity: how that normally vague, perfectly prim little loli professor had knelt before that vibration rod like a creature in heat, how those slender hands had trembled while switching it on.

She had watched how the professor pressed those two rounded, black-latex-wrapped cheeks in frantic circles against that thick shaft — how she had all but tried to swallow it whole.

She had watched how the professor's face — concealed entirely by the black latex hood, entirely without readable expression — had revealed absolute, authentic degradation through that one teardrop-shaped opening: the soft pink tongue slipping out uncontrollably, strings of saliva hanging from the corners of her mouth, those utterly leg-dissolving sounds pouring out.

The violent contrast between “anonymous, featureless latex doll” and “desperately frantic masturbation” was a million times more erotic than any exposed face could have been. Her own imagination had no trouble filling in the details — Lillian under the hood, eyes rolled back, cheeks blazing, tongue lolling, climaxing — and the resulting mental image was catastrophic.

Ahhhh~~~! Lillian~! You absolute pervert! You're so, SO lewd♥!

She used the toy she'd been using on me to get herself off until she squirted! All that white squirt, all over MY exclusive equipment♥!

Does this count as our pussies kissing indirectly? No! This is a deeper exchange of bodily fluids than that!

Celia stared after Lillian's frantic, fleeing silhouette. Without the internal vibration rod or the electro-stimulation ring, this visual feast alone had been more than sufficient to produce enough endorphins and dopamine in her perverted brain to send her silently climaxing on the sofa several times over.

I can't stand it… I want to join! I want to become that rod! I want Lillian to clamp her thighs around me and grind, ahhhh♥!

When Lillian finally disappeared through the washroom door, Celia went limp against the sofa cushions, eyes rolled back, lying there like a piece of dried-out salted fish — conjuring fantasies and shamelessly squirting, over and over~.

On the other side of the wall, Lillian dropped both enormous, still-slick-with-her-own-evidence vibration implements into the large stainless-steel rinse basin with a resounding clang. Then she herself stepped into it, like a nun doing penance for a sin.

She grabbed the shower head. She didn't even wait for the water to fully warm up before directing it at her own head, still wrapped in its latex hood.

“Pssshhh——splatter……”

The slightly cool water ran down the black latex, and its chill was like a bucket of ice water poured over the last embers of the heat still smouldering inside her.

“Phew——” Lillian tossed her head and watched the water stream over her face-mask and pool around her feet.

“What have I been doing… The sofa in the hall right outside has Number One sitting on it… and I was right here, just one wall away, and I… I so… so shamelessly grabbed those two rods and masturbated myself to a squirting climax…”

The mere thought of how she'd looked just a moment ago — writhing on the floor of that chamber, rolling her hips, crying out — made Lillian want to slam her head into the nearest wall.

“Okay! I'm not thinking about it! Forget it, forget it, forget it! That was just… just stress! Yes! Research stress!”

Lillian flailed her small black-latex-covered hand vigorously, as though swatting invisible flies, attempting to physically expel the X-rated memories from her brain.

By now, the water heater had finally engaged, and the temperature began to rise. Warm water flowed over her trim latex-clad figure.

She began working up a lather. Those slick little hands moved across the equally smooth surface of the suit.

Squeak… squeak…

The friction of fingertips over latex, peculiarly and unsettlingly, called forth the body-memory of masturbating just minutes ago. Every time her palm passed over her inner thighs or across her chest, that tingling electric sensation rekindled like a fire thought extinguished. It licked upward and upward.

“Mm… wh-why is this happening…” Lillian bit her lip and forced herself not to think about those images. She made her hands move faster.

But when she reached the area around her pussy — her fingertips inevitably made contact with those two labia, still somewhat engorged, and with that little bud, still desperately oversensitive.

“Eek~♥!” A very brief, very soft sound escaped her throat.

“Today, my body is… exceptionally sensitive…” Lillian discovered this with a hint of despair. Even the ordinary motions of washing, even through the suit — the sensation of being touched was sharp enough to make her knees weak.

“And this latex… fits so perfectly, it's almost sinful…”

And so it was that the Lillian who was desperately chanting don't be lewd, I am a respectable professor spent the entirety of her bath swimming through unspeakable mental refuse and involuntary bodily pleasure.

Finally, it was time for the “culprits.”

Lillian drew a deep breath, turned the shower head on those two instruments that had been waiting in the basin.

She propped the 30 cm, 8 cm-diameter [Bioelectric Stimulator] upright. To clean out all the grooves in its textured surface, she directed water on it with one hand while the other quite naturally wrapped around the thick cylindrical body and began working it up and down.

“Splash… squeak…”

Water sounds mingling with the sound of palm against shaft. The motion was disturbingly practiced — so practiced, it could only be described as erotic. It looked precisely like a skilled, devoted little wife giving a meticulous, professional hand job to an enormous erect cock.

Never mind that the rod had by now been uniformly coated with more than enough lubricant to slick ten separate insertions. She kept pumping, as if she'd developed an addiction.

“Squelch… squelch…”

Under the rapid friction, the originally transparent lubricant was whipped into a dense, fine foam on the shaft surface — mixed with trace amounts of body fluid and the warmth of Lillian's hands — and formed a thick, creamy lather on the surface that looked startlingly like the white slick churned out when a cock pistons frantically inside a wet hole.

“Mm… I think I've put on a bit too much…”

Lillian looked at the black rod she'd pumped to a state of dripping, foam-draped excess, and her face went a little pink. But rather than stopping, she found the slick, sticky feeling in her hands almost impossible to relinquish, as if what she held were somehow alive.

She finished with the first one and then, not quite satisfied, picked up the longer, thicker [Rectal Probe] and gave it the same treatment — pumping firmly until that instrument was also coated in that sexually charged white lather, looking for all the world like an enormous cock that had just finished.

“Good. Let's do the front one first.”

Lillian took a deep breath to settle her heart. She lowered herself to one knee, gripped the 30 cm [Bioelectric Stimulator] in both hands, and lined it up with Celia's already-wet, already-loosened pussy mouth, which was opening and closing faintly as it dripped.

“Shhplch——!”

With one smooth, wet sound of suction, that thick black shaft slid inside almost without resistance, pressing straight up against the latex-encased mouth of the cervix.

Celia's body gave only a minor shudder. Yesterday's training had apparently brought her to the point where she could take this size completely in stride.

“Now… the big one in the back.”

Lillian needed both hands to heft the 40 cm, 10 cm-diameter [Rectal Probe]. Its weight was formidable; it radiated a pressure that could only be called intimidating.

She placed that enormous, rounded tip against Celia's asshole, which was clenching and twitching with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

“Relax a little, Number One. This one's going to feel very full… just hold on.”

Lillian's voice was gentle in a way that was almost uncanny. She applied slight pressure, pressing that foam-slicked round tip against the entrance.

“UUURRRRGH——!!!!”

Celia, suspended in midair, threw her head back and let out a low, throttled cry of anguish — the sound of someone with a hand closed around their throat.

As Lillian pushed steadily, the 10 cm-diameter behemoth forced its way through Celia's tender, tight anal sphincter again. In that instant, the sensation of something forcing its way in, the stretching that felt like being torn apart paired with that absolute, consuming fullness — it ran up her spine and made every hair on her body stand on end.

“Shhhpff~! Shlrrch~~!”

Inch by inch, that long thick shaft squeezed its way into that narrow, snug passage. The lubrication was generous; it ploughed through every fold in its path but left no real damage in its wake, only the maddening friction and that belly-stuffed sensation of being split open.

Celia's body convulsed violently, her entire rod-body shaking with each new push. Her intestines clenched instinctively, trying to reject the intruder, only to be pressed flat by the unyielding hardness — forced open, centimetre by centimetre, until they were completely packed.

“Hnnnnff~! Nngh~hnngh~! Urrgh♥!”

With both nostrils and mouth stopped up with tubes, her sounds of distress came out broken — just nose-sounds and guttural vibrations. They sounded less like pain and more like the moaning of something that was dying and ecstatic in equal measure.

The probe was too long. When it was fully seated, it had not only filled the rectum but pushed its way into the sigmoid colon beyond. The sensation of having her internal organs displaced and rearranged, packed in and shoved up — it made Celia's previously flat belly visibly distend in the unmistakable silhouette of the shaft inside her.

AGHH, it's in! All of it's in! So deep… so full… my belly's going to break♥!

Stuffed full… I've become a container again, built just to hold things… ahh ahh ahh♥!

Celia screamed her joy internally, the sensation of being completely packed overwhelming what remained of her reason like a tidal wave.

Behind her, Lillian was completely stunned — the double-hit of the visual and the tactile had her reeling.

She had felt, through her hands, the tight resistance of Celia's sphincter as the rod pushed through it. She had felt, once it pressed into the depths, the way the intestinal walls gripped and pulled at it like something alive.

“Squelch~, squelch~.”

Every push came with that obscene wet noise. Celia's round black-clad ass bounced with each movement, the astonishing heat radiating from her body reaching Lillian's hands through open air.

Lillian stared at those two rods — only the bases now visible — both completely absorbed, both transformed into extensions of Celia's body.

Her eyes went a little unfocused. Her heartbeat spiked painfully. A powerful, inarticulable curiosity and something that felt disturbingly like envy began to grow in her drug-influenced mind like a weed.

Her intestines being stretched to that degree… you can trace the shape through the belly from the outside…

What must it feel like — internal organs compressed, completely packed, difficult even to breathe — could that possibly feel better than touching yourself with your own fingers?

I… I want to know, too. If I were made like this — every hole completely occupied by something this thick and hard — what would that feel like?

Lillian's hand moved to her own flat belly without her noticing, imagining it distended the same way. Then it drifted downward, pressing over her pussy through the suit — already soaked to an embarrassing degree.

Looking at the convulsing Celia in front of her, she felt a reckless urge to take her down and go up there herself.

“It's… it's so strange… I didn't feel any of this yesterday during the experiment…”

Gulp.

Lillian swallowed again, voice wavering.

“It obviously looks like an extremely painful reaction… so why does it seem like she's enjoying it? And why do I feel… envious?”

Yesterday, inserting these two behemoths into Celia's body had left her emotionally unmoved — entirely focused on experimental data, a science machine devoid of feeling.

But today, this automatic tendency toward sexual association — this was iron proof that the aphrodisiac was quietly, steadily restructuring her brain.

At last, the suspended “Number One” had been transformed entirely: a test instrument, run through with two massive objects, unable to let so much as her own fluids escape at will.

She could only float helplessly in the air, eyes rolled back, drool sliding down the tube, swaying with her body's twitches, drowning in the passive, absolute, stuffed-full ecstasy of a “test session” that was, in truth, something far more like a training session.

In the hours that followed, the laboratory returned to a monotonous but merciless quiet.

“Data stream is very stable… this sustained physical packing combined with gravitational traction has an excellent stabilizing effect on the topological structure of the mana circuit inside the spatial ring.”

Lillian sat at the control panel, glancing up now and then at Celia suspended in midair. Those two thick black implements remained buried inside her, and the pull of gravity worked on them constantly — stretching her intestines and uterus, making her pendulum slowly through the air, suppressing her silent groaning and shuddering.

But the high-intensity experiment didn't last until dawn. Around midnight, Lillian yawned, watched the curves on the screen level out into gradual calm, and decided to bring today's session to a close.

“All right, Number One. Today's performance was exceptional.”

She walked over, cancelled the levitation magic, and brought Celia down. Though she would have loved to leave Number One hanging all night for data continuity purposes, Lillian had given consideration to the patient's physical limits (mainly because she was worried about causing actual damage), and had ultimately made the merciful decision to extract both enormous probes.

“Pop~! Shhhplch……”

The moment the implements withdrew, both stretched-wide openings immediately expelled a gush of fluid mixed with the lubricant and white foam. Celia went limp as a pile of ruined jelly, collapsing into Lillian's arms, and the professor carried her carefully back to the narrow folding single bed.

Whoo~! Chapter Five is here~! I'll be posting Chapter Six right after this, so please click that heart and add it to your collection — I really do run purely on love and encouragement, and honestly, writing so much and getting next to no response is a bit of a blow to the creative spirit. Ever since the main account went dark, most of the old readers of the Wuyi series seem to have vanished too — not a single chapter has hit 300 yet, including the most recent one. Sigh~.

Chapter 6

Archived Version

The laboratory lights had gone dark. Only a dim magical nightlight remained. The two of them still held their spooning position — Lillian lying on her side behind Celia, arms wrapped tightly around her, Celia's back pressed flush against her chest.

Perhaps it was because she'd slept too much during the day. Or perhaps the aftereffects of that “supplemented” nutritional paste were still fermenting in her bloodstream. Whatever the cause, Lillian's body was exhausted, but her mind had drifted into a strangely feverish wakefulness.

“So hot…” Lillian lay with her eyes open in the dark, breathing slightly uneven.

The warmth radiating from the latex doll in her arms — transmitted through two gossamer-thin layers of magical latex — brought her no comfort at all. Instead, it felt like a burning coal, kindling the restlessness she'd been suppressing all evening.

The frantic masturbation session inside the centrifuge pod. The peculiar naked sprint down the corridor. The shameful elimination in the men's restroom. Those images played on a maddening loop inside her head, cycling like slides in a projector.

“Mmh…” Lillian pressed her thighs together in a squirm of need, the latex generating a faint, slick squick beneath the sheets. Her pussy — after several orgasms earlier in the day — was in a state of extreme, engorged sensitivity. The slightest contact made it itch and ache. It craved something to fill it. Or to be ground against, hard.

“Just… just a little touch…” Reason's defences are always at their most fragile in the dead of night. Lillian, trembling, slipped one hand into the narrow space between their pressed bodies. Her other hand crept quietly toward her own hips.

She buried her face in Celia's nape, the tip of her nose brushing against that smooth black hood, and drew a long, slow breath of Celia's scent — that signature blend of body wash and something faintly, unmistakably feminine.

Haa~… With that breath, Lillian's fingers found her stiffened little clit through the latex and began rubbing it in quick, tight circles.

Celia, her back to Lillian, was not asleep. Not even close.

Her vision and hearing had been thoroughly sealed off by her restraints and the ongoing magical conditioning — nothing before her eyes but darkness, nothing in her ears but the steady drone of white noise and looping hypnotic suggestion. But her sense of touch, deprived of its companion senses, had grown razor-sharp in compensation.

[Mm? Lillian-chan… you're not asleep?]

Celia could feel it. The breathing behind her was growing heavier. That warm, urgent exhale was gusting against her sensitive nape in rhythmic little bursts — even through the latex hood, she could feel the scorching heat of it.

Then: the trembling. A deeply rhythmic, carefully suppressed vibration, conducted directly through their pressed bodies.

[The bed is shaking… Lillian-chan's body is shaking… and that motion…]

Celia couldn't see a thing, but she could feel it with perfect clarity — one of Lillian's thighs was clamped firmly around her waist, using her like a body pillow. And Lillian's lower belly was thumping against her ass in a slow, steady rhythm.

[She's… masturbating?! Lillian-chan is holding me and… secretly masturbating against my back?!]

The realization sent Celia's heart rate spiking from its uneasy calm.

[Ahh~! I can't see anything… but this feeling… she's absolutely masturbating!]

“Mmh… nnh… haa~♥…” Lillian's voice was thin as a mosquito's hum, deliberately throttled deep in her throat — half-moan of distress, half-keen of ecstasy. Her fingers flew across the latex surface. The layer soaked through by her own arousal let out soft, wet, slick sounds with each stroke. She was fantasizing about those two enormous things she'd inserted into Subject One's body earlier that day — imagining them splitting her open, right now.

As the pleasure mounted, Lillian's movements grew bolder. She couldn't stop herself from pulling Celia tighter, her whole body going rigid as a drawn bowstring.

“Can't— going to— going to— mmhh*—!”*

With a strangled moan forced back behind her teeth, Lillian's thighs clamped vice-tight around Celia's body. Her whole frame convulsed.

A gush of hot slick fluid spilled out. The latex caught most of it — but the damp, burning warmth transferred through the material all the same, and Celia, pressed flush against her, felt every drop of it with absolute clarity.

[She came… Lillian-chan held me and secretly came♥!]

Celia shivered with excitement in the dark. This voyeuristic play, where she could only reconstruct the picture through touch and imagination, carried a breathless, suffocating quality of transgression all its own.

The shuddering behind her finally stilled.

Lillian — snapped into the cold clarity of post-orgasm — lay rigid, breathing in great gulps, her eyes full of the hollow, slightly horrified aftermath.

“Oh god… I just — I did that while holding a patient…” She pushed herself upright and craned anxiously to look at Celia's face.

“Is she awake? Was I too loud just now? Did I wake her?” Lillian's heart hammered. She dreaded finding that latex-shrouded face somehow staring at her.

Then, in the next instant, she caught herself. She pressed her palm to her own forehead with something between exasperation and self-deprecating relief. “Oh, right… she can't hear anything. She can't see anything…”

Celia lay undisturbed, breathing steadily, the very picture of peaceful sleep.

Lillian exhaled a long, slow breath and deflated like a punctured balloon, sinking back into bed.

“Lucky… so lucky she's a little deafblind right now…” She lay there, riding the tail end of her relief and the last warm wash of her climax, then reached out and pulled Celia close again, spooning her from behind. Tighter than before, this time. As though this black latex doll were her only anchor. Her only confidant.

“Good night… Number One…” Lillian mumbled, pressing her still-flushed cheek against the cool plane of Celia's back, and sank slowly into sleep, where warmth and exhaustion met.

She didn't know that the lingering heat of her arousal — the sweat and the elevated body temperature she'd generated at the peak of her orgasm — was being conducted directly into the person she was pressed against. Directly into “Number One,” who was very much not asleep, and was suffering a very pleasurable kind of internal haemorrhage.

One night passed.

Morning light pressed through the thick curtain gaps with quiet determination, laying a narrow, pale stripe across the laboratory floor.

“Mmh…” Lillian surfaced from sleep in a fog of early light. She shifted instinctively, and immediately felt it — that particular, unmistakable sensation of being wrapped.

The [Self-Cleaning Magical Latex]. Even after an entire night, the black second-skin was still sealed perfectly to every inch of her body. The suit's internal cleaning system had already broken down and absorbed most of the fluid from her stolen climax the night before, but her hips and back still held a lingering, subtly warm dampness.

“Haa~… morning already…” She unwrapped herself from “Number One” with a drowsy, reluctant motion. She looked at Celia's smooth, jet-black head, and felt colour rise in her cheeks as last night's depraved memory washed back over her like a tide.

“Knock knock knock——!!!”

Before she could even begin to surface from that warm, guilty reverie, the laboratory door was struck.

“Instructor Lillian! It's William! Today's express delivery just arrived!”

“Eek?!” Lillian shot upright like a startled rabbit. “Already?!”

She looked down at herself. Full-body latex suit. Nipples in sharp relief. Visible camel toe. If she answered the door looking like this — like she had yesterday — she would genuinely have to consider relocating to another planet.

“Wait— just a moment! I just woke up, I'm coming!” she called toward the door, already scrambling.

“Head concealment — release!” She touched the latex at her collar. The black latex that had encased her entire head receded in a smooth, liquid motion, like a tide pulling back, revealing her pale, delicate little face and a tangle of short amber-brown hair. The suit settled at her throat, forming something like a snug black turtle-neck.

She lunged for the coat rack, grabbed her usual oversized white lab coat, and hauled it on, doing up every button with focused urgency. Then she yanked on the ankle-length dark skirt, letting it drop over her legs.

“Okay… that should do it…” She checked herself in the mirror.

The coat and skirt covered most of her body. But at her wrists, her ankles, and the high collar at her neck, the glossy black latex was still plainly visible.

Perfect, actually. This perfectly aligned with the lie she'd constructed yesterday about a “full-coverage isolation suit.”

The door clicked open.

William, standing in the doorway, was visibly tense — his gaze careful and contained. When he saw Lillian in her lab coat, with her normal face visible, he let out a measurable breath of relief.

“G-good morning, Instructor! Here's today's package…” He held out the box. His gaze inevitably swept across Lillian's extended hand — the hand still fully enclosed in black latex, each fingernail's outline visible through the material, radiating a kind of ascetically industrial beauty.

“Ahem, about yesterday — I really am sorry for startling you.” Lillian tugged casually at her collar, letting the black latex lining show, and spoke in a deliberately casual tone. “You can see — it's a specialized isolation layer to prevent magical radiation exposure. The contamination levels during this experiment are quite significant, so I even have to sleep in it.”

“Oh! Of course! Instructor, your dedication is truly admirable!” William nodded vigorously, eyes full of respect for this display of “scientific self-sacrifice” — though somewhere underneath that admiration, he was privately noting that the black latex looked unspeakably indecent. “I won't take up any more of your time!”

Lillian saw him off, let out a long exhale, and bolted the door behind her.

“That's heavy…” She held the day's package and noticed immediately that it was significantly heavier than the previous deliveries.

She carried it to the sofa and dropped into it. Celia had “woken up” in the meantime — her smooth, bare head was nuzzling at the pillow, as if searching for the warmth that had left her. Lillian went over and scooped the girl up, settling them both on the sofa with Celia's head in her lap. The moment Celia felt the loli instructor's thigh beneath her head, something in her absolutely sang with delight.

“Good morning, Number One. This package is quite something — I wonder if there's more than usual?”

Lillian stroked Celia's head and picked up the box cutter, running it along the seal.

Shhrick.

The first thing she saw when the box opened was familiar: another tube of [Pineapple-Flavoured Nutritional Paste], that suggestive, provocatively shaped delivery system. At the mere sight of it, Lillian's mouth began to water, and a heat she'd thought safely buried began to stir again.

But tucked beside the paste was something else entirely: a neat, substantial purple box, tied shut with a black satin ribbon.

Lillian lifted it out, puzzled. It had a quality to it — solid and satisfying in the hand. She turned it over to check the shipping label:

Sender: Witch's Bondage Tea Party Item Name: Premium Custom · Magical Experiment Supplementary Apparatus Recipient: Celia von Novarian (Private Suite, Top Floor, Women's Dormitory)

“Hm? This is…”

Lillian blinked at the name. “Was this delivered to the wrong place?”

“Did William mix it up? He's been bringing Celia's deliveries to me all week — he might have just grabbed one of hers from the dorm by accident…” She muttered the reasoning to herself.

The actual situation was that the package had indeed been “accidentally” misdelivered — carefully arranged, of course, by a certain limbless director behind the scenes.

Lillian sat with the elegant purple box in her hands, fingertips tracing the smooth black ribbon.

A faint scent drifted up from the seams of the box — something like violet, but laced with something else, something that made her pulse pick up without quite knowing why.

“Should I open it…” She bit her lower lip. Her conscience was mounting a genuinely fierce counterattack.

An instructor of integrity did not open a student's private mail. Especially not correspondence belonging to Celia von Novarian — prodigy, noble, widely regarded as a future pillar of the Empire's magical order.

But that scent. It had a hook in it.

This was, in fact, no ordinary perfume. Celia had applied a mild [Cognitive Suggestion Charm] to the box in advance — the magical equivalent of a tiny devil whispering directly into the ear, taking whatever small and perfectly innocent curiosity a person might harbour, and slowly amplifying it into an irresistible craving.

“Well... since it was delivered here… strictly speaking, a responsible instructor has an obligation to verify whether any package contains dangerous contraband or critical experimental materials. Checking it… could actually be considered a professional duty…”

And so — under the combined pressure of the suggestion charm and a libido that had been thoroughly churned up by the “supplemented” nutritional paste — the little devil called Curiosity won decisively over reason. Lillian swallowed, her hands trembling slightly as she undid the black ribbon and slowly lifted the lid.

Click.

What was inside became instantly, undeniably visible.

“…!”

Lillian's breath stopped. The mild flush that had already been sitting on her cheeks ignited. It spread down her neck and past her collar in about half a second.

On a bed of black velvet, arranged with perfect neatness, was a set of items that could not, under any stretch of the imagination, be described as legitimate laboratory equipment.

Several smooth, pink-luminescent wireless vibrating eggs — about the size of quail eggs — accompanied by a remote control of some complexity.

A string of twenty black rubber anal beads, each approximately three centimetres in diameter, every sphere scored with friction-amplifying threading.

And a pale pink spiral vibrating dildo, approximately ten centimetres long and three centimetres in diameter — modest by the standards of the more seasoned enthusiast, perhaps, but for someone of Lillian's complete inexperience, the lifelike vein textures and spiralling structure constituted nothing short of a visual nuclear strike.

Besides the toys, several neatly stacked [Magical Recording Stones] gave off a faint glow. The inscriptions on them read things like: Beginner Development Record and Furniture Restraint Experience.

The nutritional paste bottle had still been defensible as “unusual design.” The two enormous probes inserted into Celia's body could, with effort, be called “magical monitoring instruments.” But the contents of this box were essentially wearing a name tag that read: SEXUAL PARAPHERNALIA.

“This… this is Celia's?!” Lillian nearly flung the box across the room. She checked the shipping label again. And again. Confirmed the handwritten signature — Celia von Novarian — three separate times. Then she simply sat there, stunned.

“I… wouldn't have thought… Celia-chan always has that perfectly composed face, that complete indifference to anything that isn't magical theory… and she's buying… this kind of thing…”

Her hands still trembling, Lillian replaced the lid on the box, as though she could close a door on what she'd seen.

“Well — she's eighteen. She's at that age. Even a genius has… biological needs. Wanting to explore her own body… it's perfectly natural at her developmental stage… ahaha… ha…”

She was narrating at the empty room. She picked up the purple box, walked to the farthest corner of her desk, set it down, and then deliberately stacked several thick books on top of it, as though she were sealing away something that bites.

What she didn't notice: the curiosity that should have been extinguished when she put the lid back on had not gone out. It had only found somewhere quieter to smoulder.

[Those little toys… that spiral one… you put it inside the… pussy? What would that feel like? And the recording stones — what exactly did they record…]

The thoughts sprouted like weeds and grew without her permission. Especially when she settled back on the sofa, and felt the weight and warmth of Celia's head in her lap again — and the persistent, inconvenient sensitivity of her own body beneath the latex, still warm and damp from wanting — the desires that had been so carefully pushed down found the purple box, and found in it a new outlet.

Lillian sat on the sofa, actively redirecting her gaze away from the book-covered corner of the desk.

She reached out and grabbed the large new tube of **[Pineapple-Flavoured Nutritional Paste* like a lifeline, uncapping it with barely a pause.

“Mmh… slurp…” With practiced ease now, she opened her mouth around the wide mushroom-cap tip. Her tongue worked automatic circles around the surface, and then she sealed her lips and applied suction, working the tube with her free hand, drawing out the thick white paste.

She didn't notice herself doing it. But that pretty little mouth — once employed exclusively for incantations and lectures on magical theory — had, without anyone teaching her, mastered a textbook-complete technique for oral service.

“Gulp… so sweet…” The slightly briny, syrup-heavy liquid slid down her throat. Lillian half-closed her eyes, trying to use the act of eating to settle her restless mind.

What she didn't know: this was the third tube.

The stacked-effect trap that Celia had so carefully laid was now functioning on an exponential curve. Each fresh dose was like dropping a lit match into a powder keg that had spent days accumulating fumes. The new paste interacted with what was already metabolizing in her system, and the reaction was significantly more volatile.

The more she swallowed, the hotter the ache rising from her bones. The more she tried to redirect her attention, the clearer and more insistent the images became — the purple box, the vibrating rod, the concept of physical exploration — until those thoughts began to feel not just natural but inevitable.

“Haa~… hh…” Lillian's cheeks were burning. The world had taken on a faint rosy cast. Her green eyes had gone slightly glassy.

“Phew~, hh~, it's so — it's so hot in here… did someone turn the air conditioning down…?”

She tugged irritably at the collar of her lab coat. The fabric rubbing against her skin felt unbearable — coarse and wrong and nothing like the smooth, fitted embrace of the latex beneath.

And then, without fully deciding to, she simply acted. Both hands found the buttons of the coat and undid them in a rush. The lab coat came off. The long skirt slithered down her legs. The small, immaculate figure wrapped in black latex was exposed to the air once more.

Lillian ran her fingers along the edge of the latex at her collar.

“Cover…” At the word, the black latex responded like living quicksilver, flowing upward again, reclaiming her face, leaving only that characteristic teardrop-shaped opening: a glimpse of pink lips, the tip of her nose.

Returning to that faceless, nameless state — a latex doll — the sense of being safely enclosed, and of something private and shameful being quietly released, rose through her all at once.

“Phew… much better…”

She looked down at “Number One” — still resting with her head in Lillian's lap, apparently asleep. Looking at that identically-latex-shrouded black face, Lillian felt the unnamed heat inside her burn hotter. She needed an outlet. A justification. Something she could frame in terms that wouldn't make her ashamed.

“Hh~, right~, I still need to feed you something…” Lillian's eyes were slightly hazy, her voice soft and feverish. She'd found the perfect excuse.

She sealed her lips around the paste tube again and sucked hard. Her cheeks hollowed. A large mouthful of warm, sweet-salt white paste filled her mouth.

Then she lowered herself slowly, the teardrop-shaped opening of her hood approaching Celia's mouth.

“Mmh…” Lips pressed together. Lillian sealed herself against Celia's latex opening, tongue pressing past the entry of the deep-throat tube, feeding the mouthful of paste — mixed generously with her own saliva — through.

Squelch. Slick.

This wasn't feeding. It was something more predatory than that. More indulgent.

Lillian kept her eyes closed, drinking in the intimacy of it. Her tongue, once it had finished delivering the liquid, kept moving — working into the narrow opening, stirring in the tight space, as though the act of feeding were just the pretext and this was what she'd really come for.

From Celia's side, this was simultaneously rapture and catastrophe.

[Ahh — Lillian-chan's tongue! It's so soft! It's so warm! She's kissing me! She's working her tongue into my tube! All that desire-soaked saliva… it's all going into my stomach!]

But in the next second, a wave of profound frustration.

Because her mouth was comprehensively occupied by that damned hollow latex tube that ran straight to her stomach — her own tongue pinned beneath it, completely immobilized.

[Nnooo… I can't move my tongue! I can't respond at all! If I could… I would be pulling her in right now, tangling her tongue with mine, drinking every drop of her saliva, and then — turning it around, taking over her mouth entirely!]

[I miscalculated. I genuinely miscalculated. If only I'd designed this deep-throat tube with a removable section. Being passively kissed is wonderful, but this feeling of being kissed when you can't kiss back... it's maddening!]

Celia was screaming internally, her body vibrating with suppressed excitement — which Lillian interpreted as hunger, and responded to by feeding with renewed enthusiasm and depth.

Slurp. Slurp.

The paste tube had actually been empty for some time. The last of it had made it into Celia's stomach several exchanges ago. But Lillian was still there, transfixed, unable to let go.

Her reddened lips stayed pressed to the latex opening, tongue tracing and probing and retreating, the vacuum seal producing a series of wet, lascivious sounds that resonated through the quiet laboratory.

“Gnnhh——!!”

For Celia, this was a particular kind of sweet torture.

The breathing hole was small to begin with — barely adequate for normal airflow. With Lillian sealed over it and actively pushing her tongue in, the already thin oxygen supply was substantially cut. Her brain was starving. Lights sparked in her vision. The acute, mounting panic of oxygen deprivation — mixed with the absolute ecstasy of being kissed like this by the person she wanted most — obliterated her remaining rational thought.

[Haa~! No air~! I'm suffocating~! Lillian-chan… are you trying to kiss me to death?!]

[This kind of kiss… the kind that would swallow your soul… it's incredible… my brain is melting~~!]

Fortunately, before Celia genuinely lost consciousness from hypoxia, Lillian's not-entirely-absent instincts broke through.

“Haa—?!” She recoiled as though she'd touched something hot, snapping back, her lips finally releasing with an audible pop.

“S-sorry! I'm sorry!” Lillian looked at the heaving chest of “Number One” — the laboured breathing of someone who'd been deprived of air — and apologized in a scrambling rush, regardless of whether Celia could hear.

“I just — I was…” She looked down at the tube in her hand, with its thin remaining residue clinging to the inside. Her eyes flickered. The suppressed craving reasserted itself instantly.

“There's still a little left… can't waste it…”

And there was the reason. The excuse to continue.

This time, the feeding was without pretence. Lips sealed again. That familiar heat ignited between them in an instant. Each exchange, each cycle — Lillian let the contact last a little longer than before.

From a few seconds to ten. From ten to thirty.

Until finally, when the tube was completely hollow, the two of them were still sealed together in that conjoined, inseparable way — and held it for well over a minute.

Only when the dizziness of her own oxygen deprivation began to genuinely threaten her did Lillian come back to herself, reluctantly breaking away from the girl in her arms.

When their lips finally separated, the thread of saliva that bridged them was longer and thicker than ever — it swayed in the air through several oscillations before breaking, and landed on Celia's heaving chest.

“Haa~! Haa~!” Lillian gasped, her small chest rising and falling, the whole of her sagged against the back of the sofa.

Celia, in her arms, had been thoroughly undone.

The combination of that minute-long suffocating kiss and the hallucinatory quality of oxygen deprivation had taken her completely past the point of control.

Gush——!

A rush of hot, slick fluid escaped from between her thighs, soaking through the latex seams — and it soaked directly through onto Lillian's leg. Her limbless doll-body convulsed in Lillian's arms at a high, rapid frequency, wracked with orgasm, her throat producing a faint, continuous whimper like a small animal.

“I — I'm sorry…” Lillian watched this, shame flooding her. She was still breathless. She was still visibly flustered.

“This was… it's actually… it's a 'hypoxia stimulus' treatment technique! Ha. Haha…” Her eyes moved everywhere except at Celia. She laughed at the middle distance. “Just like it says in the medical notes — sufficient physical stimulation is required to maintain stable condition. Oxygen deprivation is a well-established intervention method! Please don't misunderstand, Number One… this was all therapeutic. It's treatment!”

She talked herself in circles, working hard to bring her conscience around. Fortunately, the forged medical record Celia had prepared did, in fact, contain a line noting that [hypoxia and oxygen deprivation experiences may be employed as supplementary stimulation measures], or Lillian would have had no idea how to explain away the image of herself kissing her patient with obvious, desperate hunger.

But the justification mostly held.

And the awkward intimacy hanging in the air, while undeniable, was at least survivable. Especially because the person she was facing was a limbless, deaf-blind, mouth-blocked, effectively inert human onahole.

Whatever she did, there could be no meaningful protest. No judgment from that direction — no look that could strip her bare and find her wanting. That absolute control, that safety, reduced the weight on her conscience considerably.

She didn't know that the Celia still shuddering against her was, at this moment, experiencing something approximately one hundred times more rewarding than anything Lillian could have imagined.

[Misunderstand? How could I misunderstand~? This really is the best treatment… Lillian-chan's saliva is the best medicine♥~!]

After some time on the sofa — the blush subsiding incrementally — Lillian's rational mind began, at last, to resurface. She looked at the black latex doll still twitching occasionally against her and experienced a sudden, belated recognition.

Right.

This one couldn't hear. Couldn't see. Had been essentially deaf and blind this entire time.

“Hah… so that whole mortifying explanation I just gave… I was talking completely to myself.” Lillian pressed her palm to her forehead, half-amused against her will. Pure self-comfort.

“But… that's fine, in its way.”

She let out a quiet sigh. Her expression grew complicated. [When the seven days are up, Number One goes back to the lower city. We'll probably never see each other again.]

Somehow, that thought lessened the residual shame considerably. If the other person was someone she'd never see again — and if that person had a particular condition, a particular history, was a self-described willing masochist — then perhaps allowing herself a little indulgence wasn't really so terrible?

“Besides, according to the case file… with her specific 'dissociative self-objectification disorder' and the effects of the curse… she probably actually wants to be treated roughly like this. Being used as a non-person, as a tool — it fulfils a psychological compensation need. Makes her feel safe. The record said so.”

Lillian assembled her logic carefully, and once assembled, it was airtight. The moral boundary she'd been defending took another quiet step back, on behalf of therapeutic necessity.

“Right. If it's for treatment, I can't stop now.”

She stood up. To redirect her attention away from the purple box that kept pulling her gaze toward the corner of the desk, she decided to begin the next phase of real, legitimate experimentation immediately.

“Rattlerattle——.” With a gesture, several familiar magical restraint chains materialized, locking around the four rounded latex stumps of Celia's absent limbs.

“Nnhh!” Celia — still not fully recovered from her suffocation-orgasm — was hoisted into the air again before she'd had a chance to process it, repositioned face-down in that suspended, exposed orientation, like livestock about to be processed.

“Right… let me think. I should check the condition of the limbs being held in the spatial pocket.” Lillian spoke as she walked to retrieve the two black instruments that had been removed the previous night.

“Once I've confirmed their status, I can continue the physical stimulation, and observe whether the four limbs — currently stored in the spatial pocket, theoretically still neurologically connected to the main body — show any synchronized response to extreme physiological stimulus. The question of cross-dimensional nerve conduction is an exceptional research subject.”

She uncapped the lubricant and began applying a generous coating to both instruments.

Squelch. Squelch. The sounds that emerged were difficult to characterize as clinical. Lillian's efforts to maintain a professional demeanour were slightly undermined by the way her hands had softened without her noticing, the strokes taking on something more leisurely and deliberate than strictly necessary.

“Alright, Number One. Bear with me a moment.”

Slick——!

“Gnnnhh——!!”

With a familiar, wet impact sound and a muffled grunt, both large vibrating probes drove back into Celia's pussy and ass without ceremony, stretching both openings — which had managed to close a fraction since yesterday — to their absolute limits once more.

“Good. Connection stable.” Lillian dusted off her hands and turned away from the scene with total indifference, heading for the control console to open the spatial-pocket monitoring screen.

“Then. Experiment begins.”

And here, the deeply embedded research drive at Lillian's core proved itself unambiguously dominant when faced with a genuine academic unknown. The situation's stimulating qualities were, for the moment, simply irrelevant. She was doing science.

Her eyes became clear and sharp the moment she entered this mode. The purple box vanished from her thoughts. The recent indulgences vanished. There was only the work.

“Spatial interference array — link.”

She raised a hand. A pale blue magical circle appeared in her palm instantaneously. At her tier, such high-level diagnostic spells were reflex actions.

Her psychic force extended as countless invisible tendrils, threading through the spatial junction points at Celia's four truncated limbs, penetrating precisely into the folded pocket dimension within.

In her mind's eye: a grey, gravity-free space, strange and still. Four limb-sections — two arms, two legs — wrapped in the same black latex, floating in perfect suspension. Like carefully preserved specimens in amber.

“Initiating scan.”

“Body temperature… normal. 36.8 degrees, constant.””Magical circuit connection… normal. No breaks.”“Cellular activity… normal. Resting in a state of extremely low metabolic suspension.”

All four were in remarkably good condition — as though time had been dialled down to an infinitesimal fraction of its normal speed, and simply left there.

This was because the spatial ring's mechanism wasn't a true physical severance. It was a spatial folding technique of considerable sophistication — the relevant sections of body were transferred into an isolated sub-dimensional space, creating the visual effect of amputation. But blood vessels, nerves, and magical circuits all remained connected through a microscale spatial singularity. The limbs existed across a dimensional boundary, but were still organically continuous with the main body.

Which was why, when the limbs were restored, the worst effect was temporary pins-and-needles — like an arm that had been slept on all night — with no necrosis or rejection.

Lillian knew this from personal experience. When she'd been back-checking the data Celia had submitted, a mishandled step had accidentally locked her own left arm into the spatial pocket overnight, and she'd spent a morning as a temporary one-armed scholar. No lasting effects. Just a spectacularly numb limb.

“The technique is quite mature…” Lillian nodded, satisfied. “So now — we test the efficiency of cross-dimensional nerve signal propagation under extreme physiological interference.”

She withdrew most of her psychic connection and looked up at Celia — suspended, filled, already beginning to twitch. Then she picked up the vibration probe remote without hesitation.

“For meaningful nerve reflex data, we need a strong signal source.”

Her thumb bypassed the first three settings without slowing down and pressed the red button.

[Level 4: High-Frequency Pulse / Power Piston Mode]

HMMM————!!

Both probes buried deep in Celia's body erupted with a terrifying resonance. Not just vibration — they began pistoning mechanically, three full strokes per second, in both her intestine and her pussy simultaneously.

“GNNNhh~~!!♥”

Celia arched violently in midair. The sound she produced was throttled by the tube filling her throat — what emerged was a sealed, strangled howl of pure sensation. Deprived of any other outlet, her legless body thrashed in the air like a hooked fish.

Lillian didn't spare it a glance. Her entire attention had already returned to the interior of the spatial pocket.

“…There's a response.”

Her eyes lit up.

Under her psychic scan, as each wave of orgasms crashed through Celia's suspended body with the intensity of a tsunami, the four limb-sections — previously still as stopped clocks — moved.

The trembling was minute. Barely visible to the naked eye. But under precise magical sensing it was perfectly legible.

Especially the feet.

Those ten rounded, oil-bright toes — each tip wrapped in latex — were curling tight with every muffled scream from Celia's throat, every clenching spasm of her inner walls.

The arches of both feet were pulled taut and rigid. Veins rose faintly along the tops of the feet from the effort.

“Neural signal is transmitting…” Lillian was writing furiously, voice carrying the particular pitch of academic euphoria. “Even across a dimensional barrier, these reflex signals — originating from deep musculature and peripheral nerve endings in response to intense pleasure — are not fully blocked. Fascinating.”

“The spatial boundary doesn't achieve the predicted complete sensory severance. It significantly attenuates and delays the signal… but the signal propagates regardless.”

She touched her chin, a thin, scientifically ravenous smile playing at her lips. “If weak signals can make it through… let's increase the intensity and find the threshold.”

She pressed the red button again.

[Level 5: Maximum Frequency Piston + Electroshock / Supercritical Expansion Mode]

Crackle crackle——CRACK!!

This time, on top of the violent mechanical piston action, high-voltage bioelectric current fired directly through the probe shafts — detonating against Celia's most sensitive inner surfaces, her cervix and rectal walls.

“Hk! Hk! Hk~! Hk— NNOOOHHH——!!!”

The sounds tearing from Celia were no longer recognizably human. In the spatial pocket, the previously still image changed instantly.

The inner thigh muscles of both floating legs began to visibly, convulsively twitch. Both hands — the floating arms — opened all at once, fingers splaying wide, then clamped into fists as though grabbing for something to hold, fingernails pressing into the latex-wrapped palms.

For the Lillian currently in science mode, none of this was even slightly remarkable, except as data.

Her body was still running on the drug's heat — the small latex-shrouded face flushed crimson, breathing quick and scorching; her pussy, muddy and soaked under the suit, was steadily weeping transparent fluid at every heartbeat, a warm trickle down her inner thigh and pooling in the black latex — but she'd placed all of that behind a wall. Every drop of her attention was a laser focused on the dimensional space. The four convulsing limbs were nothing but a data source.

Her left hand maintained the psychic link. Her right held a quill, moving fast.

Scratch scratch scratch.

The quill's rapid motion was rhythmic and almost musical. Lillian didn't lower her head once. Eyes fixed on empty space, she filled her notebook with spatial curvature readings, neural transmission delay equations, and magical circuit activity waveforms charted against each orgasmic peak — all written from memory, at speed, without error. Every notation was beautiful. Even in this context.

“GNNH——!!”

“GUSH— SPLASH!!”

Behind her, Celia was experiencing her unknowable-th consecutive extreme orgasm. Both probes running at maximum output, utterly relentless. Her body was bouncing in midair, pussy and urethra both going completely incontinent — another dramatic “human fountain” display, streams of fluid mixed with residual white from before, splashing across the laboratory floor in a spreading, glittering stain.

Lillian registered none of it. She was a recording instrument. She was data collection. She did not look up.

Finally, — after Celia had endured well over a dozen near-death consecutive climaxes, her eyes rolled back, body gone limp in her restraints, consciousness effectively absent — Lillian's quill came to a sudden stop.

“Full.” She looked at the notebook — margin to margin, edge to edge, not a gap left. She nodded with deep satisfaction.

“Disconnect.”

The blue detection magic dispersed at the word. Lillian clutched her newly filled notebook like a treasure newly unearthed, and walked away from the scene without once glancing back at the body still being pummelled at maximum intensity, the object of her experiment, the absolutely destroyed Celia.

“Remarkable! This data on 'cross-dimensional sympathetic response under high-intensity neural stimulation' — it's genuinely groundbreaking!”

She ran to her desk with the energy of a child given an exceptional gift, pushing aside the stacks of papers (including the purple box they'd been sitting on), spreading the notebook flat.

“This section needs re-verification… and these peak values…”

She grabbed a fresh pen and threw herself into formula derivation, completely, utterly absorbed — forgetting to turn off the remote, forgetting to bring the poor suspended creature down, forgetting everything except the numbers in front of her.

The laboratory settled into its new steady state: the excited scratching of Lillian's pen. The endless industrial hum of the probes at full power. And Celia's voice, reduced now to barely audible, half-conscious keening.

Half an hour later.

“Phew — done! Perfect!” Lillian pressed a triumphant period after her final equation and flung her pen down, stretching with both arms above her head.

“Haa~, with this, the theoretical model for spatial link stability is complete at last. Even under extreme physiological interference, the spatial link holds completely.”

She admired her work with genuine pleasure. And then — as the glow of completion settled — the sound that had been sitting in her ears as background noise for the past half hour suddenly came into focus.

“Hm? What's that noise?”

She turned toward it.

In the middle of the laboratory, Celia still hung in the air, head drooping, limp as a cloth doll. And between her thighs — both enormous black probes were still running at full capacity. Uninterrupted.

Level 5. Maximum frequency. This entire time.

The pistoning was fast enough to leave visual blur. The bioelectric current was still flickering blue between the probe bases and the grotesquely swollen, reddened, partially prolapsed openings it was assaulting.

The smile on Lillian's face crystallized.

Her pupils dilated.

“WAAAHHHH——!!!!!”

A shriek of pure panic tore through the laboratory.

“I'm so sorry I forgot to turn it off——!!!”

Lillian threw herself across the room with all the grace of someone whose feet were on fire, dropping to her knees at Celia's hips and scrabbling at the probe bases with shaking hands. Too much adrenaline. Her fingers kept slipping.

“Stop! Stop, stop——!”

She finally found the emergency cutoff button and slammed it.

Click.

With a small, clean sound of machinery returning to neutral, both probes went quiet. The world went quiet. The laboratory was finally, genuinely still.

“…Hh. Hh…” Lillian sat on the floor, still trembling, staring up at Celia.

“Number One? Number One, can you hear me? Are you alright?”

She prodded cautiously at the dangling torso. No response.

Celia had passed out completely. Eyes rolled back. Tongue lolling against the throat tube. Her body utterly without tension, like a wrung-out rag. The two stretched openings between her thighs were continuing to flutter unconsciously with each breath, leaking a mixture of white fluid, love-honey, and a faint thread of blood.

The duration and intensity of what she'd just endured would constitute a lethal level of stimulus for essentially any organism. The only thing standing between this outcome and genuine death was the continuous, round-the-clock [Saint's Mending] advanced recovery magic she'd pre-cast on herself before any of this began.

“Okay… okay, still breathing…” Lillian found the faint but steady airflow from Celia's mouth. She pressed a hand to her own chest in relief. And then — not pausing to reflect on the cruelty she'd just demonstrated — added one more label to her mental file on Number One: remarkably durable.

“As long as she's alright… she should rest.” Lillian released the suspension magic and caught Celia as she descended, carrying her to the sofa and setting her down with unexpected gentleness.

Then she stood there, looking.

Looking at those two enormous probes still locked inside, still leaking mixed fluid. Looking at the outer edges of the pussy — stretched near-translucent, still trembling faintly. The image landed on her nerves like a hammer.

Gulp. Her throat went dry. A heat she'd never felt before in quite this way rose from her centre and swept outward.

She looked down at herself. Under the black latex, her lower belly was visibly rising and falling with her heartbeat. And between her thighs — at some point she hadn't tracked, the fabric had become thoroughly soaked. Transparent slick fluid was running freely down the inside of her legs. Even her ass — the tight-clenched latex over it was wet with what her body had decided to produce there, unbidden, for reasons she didn't want to examine.

Both nipples were rigidly erect, hard enough to press visible points into the latex over her chest.

“Haa~, how… how did I get like this again… mm~.”

She breathed in short pulls, sinking into the sofa at the other end. Her hands moved as though they had their own agenda — one climbing to her chest to work at those two small, impossibly sensitive peaks through the latex, the other dropping to the wet, aching clit between her legs.

“Mmh… haa~…”

Fingers moving through the latex, slow and deliberate circles at all three points. Each compression sent a shiver crackling up through her.

Her gaze drifted, in that moment, to the jumble of files she'd swept off her desk earlier.

They were on the floor, scattered. The purple box was among them — knocked on its side. The lid had come off in the collision and everything inside had spilled: the pink-glowing vibrating eggs, the black anal beads, the pale pink spiral vibrator, and several softly glowing recording stones, all scattered across the floor.

Gulp.

Lillian swallowed.

[She can't see… she's unconscious, the experiment can't continue anyway…]

[If I just… took a small look at what Celia bought… and touched myself a little while I looked… that would be… fine, right?]

She found the perfect justification without much effort.

“Levitation.”

She was no telekinesis prodigy on Celia's level — she couldn't manipulate objects with writing-pen precision. But moving a few lightweight objects in a straight line toward her? Entirely within her ability.

The scattered items rose from the floor with a slight wobble and floated toward her.

Once they'd all arrived, Lillian took a slow breath and reached out — with a hand that was noticeably trembling — and closed her fingers around the recording stone that seemed the most distinctive.

“Just… one look… just to see what kind of strange things Celia ended up buying…”

She fed a thread of magic into the crystal.

The dull stone lit up pink. A crisp holographic projection unfolded in the air.

It showed a dim underground venue bathed in rose-tinted light. The air in the image looked heavy and intimate. Sounds bled in from the edges — a rhythmic crack, low voices, something that was unmistakably a moan. And at the centre of the frame was a familiar silhouette.

“Hm?… Celia-chan?!” Lillian's pupils snapped small.

The woman in the projection was — unmistakably, uncannily — nearly identical to her most talented student. The same face shape, the same proportions, the same quality of cold elegance with a current of danger underneath it. The same silver-white hair, flowing like pale light.

But the eyes were obscured — a slight mosaic effect blurring the exact features, that critical one-percent uncertainty.

And the clothing was entirely wrong for the Celia she knew. Black lace straps. An open chest piece exposing broad stretches of flawless white skin. A leather skirt so short it barely covered the line of her hips. The precise opposite of the poised, knee-length academy uniforms Celia invariably wore.

[It's probably just someone who looks similar… Celia-chan is such an upright, accomplished person. She couldn't possibly…]

Lillian told herself this firmly. Her eyes did not move.

In the projection, the young woman was seated on a velvet sofa opposite a man in a well-cut suit — a composed, physically substantial older man. They appeared to be conducting some kind of structured conversation.

“Please tell me your height, measurements, and your… interests.” The man's voice was deep, clearly processed through some filter.

“168 cm. Measurements: 92-56-90…” The woman's voice was similarly altered, but the cool, composed quality of it made Lillian's heart catch. It sounded exactly like Celia.

“As for interests… I like being restrained. I like losing control. I like… being treated as an object.”

“Very good. And during intimacy — where are you most sensitive?”

“My nipples. My clitoris. And when something reaches my cervix.” She said these things without any hesitation, as though discussing the weather.

Lillian recognized the arc of it — this was the kind of setup she'd seen in the simple, uncomplicated adult films she'd quietly purchased and kept under her mattress. Conversation. Undressing. Some light touching. Then straightforward intercourse, face-to-face.

But then the scene departed from her expectations entirely.

When the conversation concluded, the man — introduced as a trainer — did not lean forward to kiss the woman gently. He looked at her with no warmth at all and said: “Undress completely. Then get on your knees and crawl to me.”

“Of course, Master~.” The woman rose without hesitation. Her slender fingers moved with composed precision through every clasp and button on her clothes. The black lace dropped away, revealing breasts that were not large but perfectly shaped. The leather skirt slid off, and beneath it — nothing. Smooth, bare, immaculate.

In under a minute, that breathtaking white body was completely exposed to the lens.

And then this woman — who had been speaking with full composure moments ago — actually lowered herself to her knees. Put her hands on the floor. Looked up at the man with eyes full of tranquil submission.

“Good.” From his pocket, the man produced a deep red leather collar set with metal rings. He bent down and buckled it around her white throat.

Click. A red leash attached.

“Come, my little bitch.”

He tugged the leash. And the woman who was entirely unclothed went down onto all fours — and crawled after him out of the room.

The camera followed this surreal, viscerally powerful image as it moved.

What came next stopped Lillian's breathing entirely.

The room they entered was decorated in a style she had no framework for — dark aesthetic, deliberately unsettling. Deep red leather-padded walls. Cold light picking out the gleam of metal fixtures. A cruciform restraint table in the centre. Chains and leather straps hanging from the ceiling. A cabinet full of devices ranging from small to alarming. Something that looked architecturally similar to an instrument of torture.

“Come in.” The man unclipped the leash. The woman crawled obediently inside and settled on the floor at his feet in a kneeling pose — a pet waiting patiently for a cue.

Lillian sat with her mouth slightly open and her mind completely blank.

[That's a… dog collar. On a person. Why is there a collar on a person?!]

[And she actually crawled out of the room on a leash like that?! And this room's decor — it's so strange — but somehow it feels impressive? What is this? Let me look a little more…]

This was Lillian's first encounter with anything in the BDSM genre. She didn't know the word for what she was looking at. She only knew she couldn't look away. These images of dominance and surrender — the choreography of power and its abdication — felt like a key turning in a lock she hadn't known existed.

Before she quite realized it, Lillian had fully reclined on the sofa. Her two long legs in their black latex were spread wide in a broad, unchecked V, the most unguarded posture she'd ever assumed without noticing.

“Haa~… mmh…”

Her right hand — middle and ring fingers — was buried to the knuckles in the soaking mess of her pussy, working in a fast, curling rhythm, each stroke pulling out a lewd, wet sound. The pleasure of it was pulling her feet taut, her toes digging into the carpet, her back arching off the cushions.

Her left hand was pressing hard into her breast, kneading until the latex-wrapped peak sent sparks down her spine.

“Mmh… haa~♥…”

The sounds leaving her lips were things she wasn't tracking.

She didn't know — and would have refused to believe — that the woman in the recording stone, being led on a leash, obediently crawling, waiting on her knees for instruction, was her most trusted, most admired, most capable student. Celia von Novarian, in person.

Celia had done her research. This sweet, painfully innocent loli instructor's understanding of sex had never progressed past its most basic form — one man, one woman, undress, some kissing, some touching, missionary position, internal completion. With perhaps a costume or stockings added for special occasions. She'd never encountered anything so much as mildly heavy — group scenarios, humiliation, bondage — nothing.

For Celia herself, that kind of material was water so plain it had no taste. Even highly aroused, it produced nothing. It was boring.

But for Lillian — a completely blank slate — it was nothing short of a revelation. An entirely new continent of possibility, suddenly visible.

So Celia had designed this. She'd combed through years of her own underground recordings — selected, edited, curated — and arranged for them to be “mistakenly” delivered to Lillian's hands.

The method was simple in principle: contaminate her instructor's sexual framework at the source. Rewire what she found arousing. Build her, one delivery at a time, into a woman who could receive all of it — the strange, the transgressive, the degrading — and eventually, actively hunger for it.

The first batch was specifically this: one-on-one training scenarios. One dominant, one submissive. Celia's reasoning was precise — if Lillian's very first exposure was chaotic, multi-partner, public humiliation footage, the response would likely be revulsion. Too disordered. Too threatening.

But something this contained — this exclusive — retained an intimacy. It was easier to let in.

The escalation could come later.

Celia, still “unconscious” on the other end of the sofa, was actually running her visual magic and watching all of this. She was imagining the successful culmination of her plan — herself and Lillian, eventually, exploring the city's darker venues together. If she could see what Lillian looked like right now — thoroughly absorbed in Celia's own training footage, masturbating with intense, oblivious focus — she would probably come on the spot.

In the recording, the footage had arrived at its main act.

The woman knelt between the man's thighs, raised her mosaic-blurred face with an expression of absolute eager surrender, and — as the man's pants came open — received the sight of the substantial, vein-mapped cock that stood up directly in front of her with an audible, genuine intake of breath. Something like shock, immediately overridden by appetite.

She opened her mouth and extended her pink tongue, and began at the base — working slowly upward, tracing every raised vein and ridge, all the way to the tip.

Slurp. Suck.

The sounds came through the high-fidelity recording crystal with complete accuracy, resonating in the quiet room.

Lillian lay back and watched with crimson cheeks as the woman — who looked so much like Celia — took the whole length into her throat, using the deep-throat technique to press the tight softness of her throat around the wide head.

Lillian's tongue moved unconsciously in her own mouth, tracing nothing, imagining—

Then the scene shifted.

The woman, her preparation work complete, turned away like an obedient pet. She went down on all fours, dropped her hips, raised her ass — that round, well-shaped ass — and swayed it in the air, a wordless invitation to the man behind her.

“Bark! Bark~♥!”

She was making dog sounds. Soft, sweet, completely willing, every shred of human dignity deliberately set aside, nothing remaining but the instinct of a creature in heat.

The man came down behind her. Both hands — calloused, large — seized the white cheeks without gentleness.

SLAP. SLAP.

Two sharp cracks of skin on skin. The red handprints rose immediately on white flesh.

Lillian convulsed. Her pussy clenched around her fingers.

“Ah… that looks painful… but she looks so good…”

The man gripped his cock and lined up against the slick, fluttering, saliva-wet entrance.

THRUST——!!

With a single hard forward motion, the full length — twenty centimetres, forearm-thick — drove into the pink interior. No gradual entry. No preliminary. The wide head split the tender lips and buried itself halfway in one stroke.

“OHHhh~♥!! Master, you're so deep — it's too big~~!!!”

The woman in the projection lurched forward on impact and was then pulled back by the anchor of the cock inside her. She threw her head back and released a sound that dissolved the bones — pleasure and pain, inextricably mixed, vibrating at a frequency that bypassed every filter.

“Fucking bitch, who gave you permission to use words?! Keep making dog sounds, or I'll give you something to actually cry about!” Two more slaps landed, and the woman's voice converted obediently into: “Nnwoof~!”

Lillian's heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. The hand between her legs had abandoned all pretence of moderation.

“Haa~, haa~, it's actually inside her… it's so big… it's so big…”

She was imagining it. Herself, in that position. Herself, with something that size splitting her open. Being filled. Being owned. Being used exactly like that — the transgression of it, the sheer abjection of it — sent her over.

“Mmh — going to — going to— mmhh~~♥!!!”*

With that last compressed wail, Lillian's body went rigid. Her toes locked against the sofa's edge. A rush of hot fluid burst out of her, soaking the black latex.

At that moment, the latex doll at the far end of the sofa had quietly recovered.

Celia — visual magic running — took in this scene of absolute, perfect corruption with an expression of profound, satisfied malice.

[Hehe… hehehehe… enjoy it, Lillian-chan~. This “sex education curriculum” is something I prepared especially for you♥]

Lillian, completely unaware, was still drifting in the residual bliss.

She was spread across the sofa like poured water. Chest heaving. Green eyes glassy and unfocused, tears of physical overwhelm tracking down to the edge of her hood. The black latex between her thighs trembled with each faint exhale, transparent fluid still seeping out.

[I'm broken... actually broken~~... so this is what being destroyed by pleasure feels like... terrifying... but... so good...]*

On the other end of the sofa, Celia — the supposedly unconscious one — finally reached her own limit.

Watching that image. The gushing. The tumbling vibrating egg. She felt the thread of her own composure snap.

[Too good! Lillian-chan~! You actually squirted! A proper, substantial squirt!]

[Nhh~! Just watching this… I'm going again♥!!]

Celia's body convulsed in a silent climax of her own, fluid spilling quietly from her soaked thigh-seams, adding itself, discreetly, to the afternoon's general excess.

After that explosive release, Lillian's brain — burning almost to melting — finally began to cool along with her body's collapse.

“Haa~… haa~…”

She gasped, cheeks still brilliantly flushed.

“What… what have I done…” She pressed her palm to her face and looked at the wreckage. Wet carpet. Three pink vibrating eggs on the floor. The recording stone, knocked sideways. The shame arrived like a tide.

“Turn it off — turn it off — turn it off——!” She scrambled for the remote like a child caught doing something terrible, and switched everything off.

“Click.” She cut the magic flow to the recording stone. The pink hologram vanished. The room was quiet.

Red-faced, not looking at “unconscious” Number One, Lillian began the clean-up.

She peeled the vibrating eggs off her nipples. The tape came away with a sound that was regrettably audible in the quiet room.

Rrip.

Then the one on her clit. Long minutes of vibration had left it swollen and hyperaware. Removing the tape drew an involuntary short moan.

Then she knelt on the floor and collected the three eggs that had been ejected during her squirt, still lying in the spreading damp patch on the carpet.

“Mm… so wet…” Holding these small objects that carried her body heat and a generous coating of her own fluid, her face felt incandescent.

She grabbed a lab cloth and wiped them down — not very thoroughly — then shoved all five eggs, along with the unopened spiral vibrator and the black bead string, back into the purple box.

Click. The lid went on hard.

Lillian carried the box to the bottom of her document pile and re-stacked the thickest magical theory volumes on top of it with deliberate weight.

“Phew~~. Okay. Nothing happened. Nothing happened. I was just… organizing Celia's belongings…”

She stood. Looked at the unmoving black shape on the sofa. Felt a surge of profound, slightly irrational relief.

“Lucky this one is still deaf and blind and out cold right now… if she'd seen what I just looked like…”

Lillian shuddered at the thought and refused to complete it.

She had no idea that the person she was calling “lucky” had watched every single moment of it with wide, delighted eyes, and had climaxed because of it.

[Hehe~, even her flustered clean-up is adorable♥. That expression — blushing furiously while pretending to be composed… I want to bully her all over again.]

Celia settled her breathing with quiet care and returned to her performance of unconsciousness, waiting for the next act.

The next several days were, for Celia, marked by a certain mild disappointment.

True, every day during the one hour her visual magic was active, she could observe Lillian — pharmacologically primed, physically wound tight, needing to extend her self-pleasure sessions further each time, turning the vibrating egg controls to higher settings, sprawling across the sofa in increasingly uninhibited positions.

And true, when it came to answering the door for deliveries in the morning, this little instructor had more or less abandoned pretence entirely — forgoing even the lab coat and skirt, opening the door in nothing but the full-coverage black latex that technically covered everything while leaving absolutely nothing to imagination.

Maybe she was growing bolder, or mimicking the exposure play from the recordings, or had simply gone numb to the suit through prolonged wear.

This caused measurable suffering for William.

Every time the door opened, he was faced with his instructor in skintight glossy black latex — her small chest, narrow waist, and rounded hips all precisely contoured by the suit, the camel-toe seam at her hips visible in detail. His body reacted with the consistency of a well-tuned instrument to stimuli, and he had developed the habit of excusing himself to a bathroom stall immediately after each delivery, to deal with the consequences of certain involuntary responses to certain involuntary glances at certain involuntary parts of his instructor, before he could return to normal functioning.

But beyond that — the theoretical cliff edge didn't give way.

Lillian's reason, battered as it appeared, proved remarkably buoyant. A small boat in a heavy sea, perpetually almost capsizing, perpetually failing to.

Her use of the toys remained static. Clit, two nipples, three internal — that was the configuration. Even when the vibration wrung her out completely, even when she was squirting across the carpet, she held the line. She didn't touch the larger items.

The spiral vibrator. The bead string. She'd even reached toward them once or twice, hand extended, then pulled back sharply as though burned and pushed them back to the box's depths.

“That's too thick… I'll break something… I can't…”

She was thirty-two years old, technically. But her instincts around her own body remained deeply, conservatively protective. All the heavy content Celia had been curating for her — the piercings and suspension bondage and expanded scenarios — had opened extraordinary windows in her mind. She watched through them breathlessly. She used them for fuel. She came hard.

But the gap between watching and doing remained, for Lillian, genuinely uncrossable.

She was someone who watched documentary footage of extreme cuisine and then ordered the safest thing on the menu. The new content had redrawn what she found arousing. It hadn't redrawn her risk tolerance. Her body's first time — its literal first penetration — wasn't something she was going to offer to a toy she'd owned for three days.

That particular door, Celia reflected, might require a more personal touch. A carefully arranged accident, perhaps.

But for now:

[She's still a good person at heart,] Celia thought, from her position in the air — hanging, filled, currently on her third climax of the hour. [Even after all my curated filth, even after vibrator-squirting across the floor… she hasn't crossed the real line.]

[Which is exactly why I want to pull her across it so badly.]

The desire that had started this project — the drive to fully, comprehensively corrupt the earnest little instructor who'd treated her with such steady care — had not diminished with familiarity. It had deepened. Become more patient. More specific.

[But it's fine. This has all been prelude. Seven days was always just the opening.] [My real gift is waiting. And when the experiment ends… when she sees what I've actually arranged for her…]

[Can you hold the line then, Lillian-chan~?]

Behind the latex hood, something glinted in Celia's eyes.

The sun on the seventh morning was unhurried, pressing through the thick curtains in a single pale stripe. It illuminated a room that had not smelled of anything as neutral as “a laboratory” for several days now. The air was heavy with something sweet-sharp and biological — metabolized nutritional paste, female arousal, the particular scent latex generates under sustained friction.

For both of them, this was the last day.

On the research table, the completed report — Pressure Testing Analysis of High-Dimensional Spatial Folding and Biological Neural Conduction — sat in a tidy stack, finished sometime before dawn. Every data point was flawless. It would earn the highest recognition the Imperial Magical Academy could offer.

Its author was not, at this moment, in any condition to be described as an “academic authority.”

9:00 AM.

“Haa~, so hot… how am I already this worked up first thing in the morning♥…”

Lillian — seven days into the black [Self-Cleaning Magical Latex], which had long since ceased to feel like clothing and simply felt like skin — was pacing restlessly. Each daily tube of [Pineapple-Flavoured Nutritional Paste] had been doing something to her. The first few days it was nutrition. By now it functioned like a dependency — her body had learned to need it, and without it, the absence was a fidgeting, hollow itch.

The cumulative pharmacological effect had dragged her arousal threshold down to somewhere genuinely alarming. Walking — the inner thighs of the latex shifting against each other — was enough. The suit compressing her nipples slightly more than a moment ago was enough. She was wet constantly. The suit's cleaning system ran nearly full-time on the evidence.

“Take care of Number One first… then I can rest…” Lillian's eyes were faintly unfocused. She looked at the figure on the bed.

The care she'd once brought to morning assessments had not survived to day seven. “The data's all there already. Just… do it.”

She scooped Celia up and carried her to the hanging position — barely bothering with lubricant, since the relevant areas were, as she had clinically observed, in a state of ongoing natural wetness.

“Slick! Slick!”

The two probes went in with two simple, direct sounds, like someone inserting a key.

“Nhh!!” Celia delivered her programmed response.

“Up you go.”

“Levitate.”

Chains caught the truncated limbs. Celia rose into her usual face-down suspension in the corner, a pendant.

“Setting… eh, somewhere in the middle.”

Hmmm. The probes began their work. Lillian walked away without looking at the resulting convulsion, made her way to the sofa, and sat down — or rather, dropped into it.

“Phew~. Finally. Earned a treat…”

She let herself tip back into the cushions. Her legs fell open with the practiced ease of someone for whom this was simply a known configuration. M-shape. Wide. Unconcerned.

If the Lillian of seven days ago had been shown this image of herself, she would have passed out from embarrassment.

She reached under the coffee table and extracted the purple box. It had migrated there gradually over the course of the week — no longer stuffed under books, no longer treated as something requiring concealment.

Click.

Several recording stones woke and floated up. In the nearest projection, the woman who looked like Celia was secured to a cross-frame, vibrating eggs clamped at every sensitive point, voice lost in continuous noise.

Lillian had seen this particular recording many times. She knew every sequence. It no longer shocked her. It just… functioned.

“Mm… eggs today… fingers alone never get deep enough…”

The old faint blush, still present — Lillian was apparently constitutionally incapable of being fully comfortable with this — but not enough to stop her. She reached into the box and picked up two of the pink wireless eggs with the ease of someone reaching for a familiar tool.

Slick.

The first went in smoothly. Her body admitted it without resistance. The fit of those small smooth spheres inside a passage that had begun the week very tight indeed was, at this point, just… normal.

Squelch.

The second pressed against her clit. She shifted to find the angle.

“Haa~♥… right there… mm♥…”

She sighed. Closed her eyes briefly. Opened them to the recording.

Other hand: her breast, kneading with unhurried, deliberate pressure through the latex.

“Click.”

She turned the remote over in her hand and switched it on.

HMMM————!!

“GHHNNNhhhh——♥!!!”

Instant full-body impact. She arched off the sofa with the reflexive force of something that had never been optional, then melted back, completely soft, in a single second.

“Ohh, yes~, that's it, that vibration~… GHHh — NNmmhh♥~…”

Her M-spread legs quivered. Knees bumped. The latex between her thighs was a complete disaster, transparent fluid running freely, soaking into the upholstery that had already been thoroughly educated in this function over the past several days.

“Master~ — haa~♥… just like the video… Lillian is a needy little bitch in heat~… nn~, it's so embarrassing… GHHhhmm♥!”

The pharmacologically amplified want had done something to her language. She was now borrowing vocabulary from the recordings. She still found it embarrassing. She was also continuing to say it.

She was experiencing something adjacent to a hallucination — a sensation like a collar at her own throat. Intangible. Present.

In the corner, the suspended Celia — vibrating away, currently in her third orgasm of the morning by her own count — was running her visual magic and watching all of this with the sustained delight of someone witnessing a long-laboured harvest.

[Look at her. Just look at her. The M-shape. The clit technique. Calling herself a bitch in heat for the empty room.]

[Seven days of nutritional paste plus latex plus training footage. The combination is genuinely preposterous. My best work.]

The pleasure she was experiencing from the probes felt actively sweeter right now. Watching Lillian — who had been so careful and so conscientious and so dedicated to the proper maintenance of professional distance — lying here, drugged and willing and thoroughly alone with her own wants — was better than any research prize Celia had ever held.

[But Lillian-chan. You think this is the ending?]

[Today is day seven. The experiment is finished. But what I've prepared for you comes after.]

[Can you hold on until then, I wonder~?]

In the dark behind her hood, Celia smiled.

“Eeiihh——!! Going——!!♥——!!”

“GUSH— SPLASH!!!”

Lillian's cry — high, cracked, thoroughly genuine — preceded another substantial release. The pussy clenched. The egg ejected itself with the small, wet object's exit. A clear arc of fluid caught the light before it hit the carpet.

“Haa♥… haa♥… haa♥…”

The aftermath found her completely flat, chest rolling with each breath, eyes turned vague and upward. Minor aftershocks moved through her at intervals.

Her brain was genuinely empty. Just warmth and the fading heat of it and something that felt very simply like: good.

The report on the desk, representing the future of spatial magical theory? She didn't know what she was thinking about. She wasn't thinking about anything.

She just wanted to rest.

And then, she thought distantly, she might do it once more.

The author's note:

And that's the last of the experiment period! As for why I didn't open things up further — my thinking was this: I needed to plant a seed in the little instructor's head, but seven days and her own agency alone aren't enough to bring about a complete fall. At most, she's become a timid homebody who's developed a taste for heavy content. Given how much she values her own chastity, that particular membrane is probably going to need Celia to break it personally — I have some “accidental” scenarios in mind for later~.

Also, my vision of Lillian is that she's genuinely not the classic “mindless horny girl” type — she's more of a “has enormous latent potential and a very responsive body, which makes the process considerably more convenient” type. Whether I managed to communicate that or not, I'm not sure, but I hope you've come to like this slightly cowardly, slightly shy, technically adult loli. And of course, our leading schemer Celia-chan~.

That's all for now — hope you enjoyed it ❤

Chapter 7

Archived Version

Hi, I’m back with another update on the Witch! Mew~! As expected, Lilian-chan is just so cute~. Older-sister-type lolis really are a treat~ ~.

Ding-dong—! Ding-dong—!

The enchanted clock in the room chimed with a crisp ring, rousing Lillian from the lingering haze of her post-orgasm stupor. She lay curled up on the leather sofa, one hand still buried inside her sodden pussy, fingers lazily scooping and stirring, while the other gripped that day's tube of nutrient paste, her lips wrapped around its mushroom-shaped tip, sucking out the last dregs of thick white fluid.

Slrrp~, gulp~. That cloying sweetness—semen blended with pineapple flavouring—spread across her tongue, and she couldn't help but narrow her eyes in blissful satisfaction at the perverse fulfilment.

Hm? The alarm? Lillian blinked in confusion, her brain still mired in post-climax fog. It took a long moment before she remembered why she'd set this middle-of-the-night alarm in the first place.

Ah, right… today is the seventh day. The experiment is over.

When she'd received the nutrient paste that morning, the box had contained something extra alongside the usual familiar tube—a letter written on fine stationery. It was from Celia, penned in her own hand, the script still that elegant, immaculate aristocratic calligraphy:

To the esteemed Instructor Lillian:
Our seven-day cooperation period will conclude tonight at midnight. Thank you for your diligent care of this special patient. Given the inconvenience of Lower District personnel entering and exiting the Academy, I have specially arranged this late-night time slot. If it would not trouble you too greatly, please re-crate Miss Mare-01 and deliver her to my private villa outside the Academy grounds.

Villa address: 117 Third Avenue, Noble Quarter
Key location: Beneath the flowerpot to the right of the entrance
There will be no one present in the villa. You may simply place the crate in the living room.

Once again, thank you for your professionalism and patience.

With respect,
Celia von Novarian

Lillian slowly sat up from the sofa. That intoxicating thrill from moments ago was instantly replaced by a pang of loss.

Seven days… it's over already, just like that.

Her gaze drifted toward the corner of the laboratory, where a black human stump still swayed gently in midair, its insides still packed full with two massive implements. That “Number One” who had once made her feel so nervous and unfamiliar had somehow become something… indispensable? A companion?

“Hoo~, time to say goodbye, I suppose…” Lillian rose with a touch of reluctance, casually tossing the pink vibrating eggs and recording crystals into the purple box before walking toward Celia, who hung suspended in the air.

“Release suspension.”

Several chains of magical energy dissipated instantly. Celia's limp body lost its support and dropped straight into Lillian's outstretched arms.

“This is the last time I'll hold you, Number One.” Lillian gently stroked that smooth latex-covered head, her tone carrying a thread of complicated attachment. “These past few days… thank you for cooperating with my experiments. Even though you can't hear me, I… thank you.”

She carefully extracted the two vibrating probes that were still buzzing away inside.

Pop~! Squelch~!

As the massive objects left the body, those two holes that had been stretched for a full seven days were finally granted temporary relief. A torrent of mixed fluids slid down the thighs.

“Hold on a moment, let me get the crate.”

Lillian went to the storage room and hauled out the reinforced wooden crate that had been used when Celia first arrived seven days ago. She had thoughtfully replaced the straw lining with black velvet cushioning that gave off a faint scent of violet.

“Here, in you go.” Like placing a precious work of art, she gently lowered the limbless latex-wrapped body into the crate.

That expressionless black face—featureless save for three round breathing holes—looked especially mysterious in the dim light. Lillian couldn't resist reaching out once more to stroke that smooth crown.

“Goodbye, Number One. I hope your illness clears up soon. I hope you… find the happiness you deserve.” With that, she gently closed the lid and sealed it tight with a magical clasp.

Now it was time to head out. Lillian surveyed the laboratory that had been her companion for seven days. Stains from her various sessions of self-pleasure still marked the floor. The complex aroma of sweat, arousal, and latex still hung thick in the air.

She bent down and picked up the lab coat and dark skirt that had been lying on the floor for ages.

As for that loose beige sweater and white undershirt… she glanced at them, then ultimately shook her head.

“Forget it, I'm not wearing those. It's the middle of the night anyway, and besides…” Lillian looked down at the black latex suit clinging to her body like a second skin. “I've gotten so used to wearing this that normal clothes actually feel uncomfortable now.”

She deftly pulled on the lab coat, fastening every button with care to ensure the tight catsuit was completely concealed. Then the long skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles.

“Oh right, the hood too.”

Just as she was about to leave, Lillian suddenly remembered that she was still wearing the black latex mask over her face. She walked to her desk and rummaged beneath a pile of scattered documents until she found the black-framed glasses she hadn't worn in ages.

“Release—head covering.”

At the command, the latex layer encasing her entire head retracted like an ebbing tide, shrinking back down into its high-collar configuration. That delicate face, hidden for seven full days, was exposed to the air once more—somewhat pale, but still beautiful, with something indefinable and new glimmering in her eyes.

“Hoo~, wearing glasses actually feels a bit strange now.”

Lillian laughed at herself as she slipped on those signature black-framed glasses. The world that had gone blurry without the magical vision correction snapped back into focus.

She tidied her somewhat dishevelled chestnut-brown bob in the small mirror on her desk, confirmed that she had successfully transformed back into the respectable “Instructor Lillian,” and nodded with satisfaction.

“Alright, let's go.”

Lillian raised her hand and cast a levitation spell. The reinforced wooden crate containing Celia rose slowly into the air, trailing behind her.

Click—!

The laboratory door swung open, and the distinctive chill of nighttime air rushed to greet her. Lillian took a deep breath, stepped out of the sealed chamber with the crate in tow, and set off toward the Noble Quarter beyond campus.

The Academy's main thoroughfare at midnight was utterly deserted, lit only by the dim amber glow of magical streetlamps lining both sides.

Tap, tap, tap…

Lillian's pink fluffy slippers made slightly hurried footfalls on the stone path. With each step, the tight black latex suit shifted with her movements, producing the faintest squeak that sounded unbearably loud in the silence of the night.

She glanced nervously left and right, her eyes full of a thief's guilty anxiety. Although the oversized lab coat and ankle-length dark skirt covered her, the collar still revealed that second-skin-tight high-necked black catsuit, rising and falling with each breath.

Not to mention the ankles peeking out from beneath the long skirt, and her bare hands—ungloved, exposed—all wrapped in that jet-black glossy material, reflecting an eerie sheen under the streetlamps.

“Phew… that was close. Thank god no one's around…” Lillian hunched her shoulders, trying to use the lab coat's stand-up collar to hide the conspicuous latex at her neck.

Just then, a faint mechanical whirring came from up ahead. “Beep—! Identity scan in progress—!” A towering Academy patrol golem rotated out of the shadows, its blue-glowing electronic eyes locking onto Lillian instantly.

!!! Lillian's heart clenched. She froze on instinct.

Fortunately, the golem didn't sound an alarm. Instead, it spoke in a gentle, mechanical tone: “Identity confirmed. Good evening, Instructor, Lillian. Please take care during your late-night outing.” The massive steel frame respectfully stepped aside, clearing a path.

“Phew~, thank you…” Lillian exhaled in relief, patting her chest. The terror of being caught only slowly began to recede.

She quickened her pace. The floating wooden crate trailed silently behind her—carrying the “Number One” who had been her companion for seven days, and the evidence of her debauched indulgences.

Before long, Lillian passed through the Academy's towering main gate. The world outside was even quieter than campus, broken only by the occasional cry of a night owl slicing through the darkness.

Following the address in the letter, she walked along a path carpeted with fallen leaves until she arrived at a standalone villa not far from the Academy.

The villa was modest in size but exquisitely designed, in the classic Novarian aristocratic style. Neatly trimmed hedges encircled it, the wrought-iron gate was shut tight, and only the magical sensor lamp by the entrance flickered to life as Lillian approached.

“117 Third Avenue, Noble Quarter… this is the place.” Lillian stopped, looking up at the sealed gate.

“The key is… beneath the flowerpot on the right…”

Following the letter's instructions, she walked to the marble planter beside the gate, home to some unidentifiable flower. She crouched down, extended those small hands wrapped in black latex, and felt around in the soil beneath the pot.

“Ah, found it.” Her fingertips touched something cold and hard. Lillian pulled it out—an ornate copper key engraved with the Novarian family crest.

Click. The key turned in the lock, and the heavy wrought-iron gate slowly swung open on both sides.

Lillian didn't enter immediately. Instead, she placed the key back beneath the flowerpot, carefully covering it with soil to hide any trace. Only after completing this did she take a deep breath, regain control of the floating crate, and step into the courtyard.

The yard was utterly still, only the rustle of wind through leaves. Lillian followed the cobblestone path to the front door of the main house.

She tentatively pushed at the carved wooden door, which looked extremely expensive.

Creeeeak—! To her surprise, it was unlocked, swinging open at her touch. A faint violet fragrance drifted from within—the same incense Celia always used.

“Pardon the intrusion~.” Lillian called out softly from habit. Her voice echoed through the empty foyer, sounding rather lonely.

No one answered. Just as the letter had said, the villa was completely empty. Only a dark hallway and living room awaited this late-night visitor.

“Mm, seems like nobody's home… I'll just leave Number One here then…”

Lillian guided the heavy crate, floating it slowly into the main hall. The interior was pitch black, with only moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor.

Uncomfortable in the darkness, she groped along the wall until she found the switch for the magical chandelier.

Click.

Soft, bright crystal light instantly illuminated the entire hall. This was a living room decorated in extravagant luxury—deep crimson velvet curtains, exquisitely carved solid wood furniture, antique oil paintings on the walls—every detail a testament to the owner's taste and wealth.

But Lillian had no leisure to appreciate any of it.

“Hoo~, since Celia-chan said in her letter that I just need to deliver it here…” Lillian lowered the crate onto the expensive carpet in the centre of the living room and dusted off her hands, as though she'd just completed a momentous task.

“Then my mission is complete. I don't know who'll take over care of poor Miss Number One after this, but knowing Celia, she's surely arranged everything perfectly.”

Lillian thought to herself, feeling the weight finally lift from her shoulders. She glanced at the magical clock on the wall—nearly 1 AM.

“Well then… I should head back.”

She turned toward the door, but her heart felt strangely hollow. These seven days had been exhausting, even absurd in some ways, but that feeling of having someone by her side each day (even if it was a deaf, blind little stump~), of falling asleep in an embrace each night—for someone who'd always lived alone, it had created an attachment that was surprisingly hard to let go.

“Forget it, no use dwelling on it. I'll just go home and get a good night's sleep. Tonight… I'll sleep in this latex suit.” Lillian looked down at the jet-black, glossy catsuit clinging to her like a second skin, and the corner of her mouth curved into a satisfied smile.

“After all, this is Celia's custom-made miracle of laziness~. Self-cleaning, temperature-regulating, breathable yet form-fitting. It even… makes glasses unnecessary.”

She adjusted the black-framed glasses she'd put back on as a disguise, mentally planning to take them off the moment she returned to her quarters, pull the hood back up, and sleep comfortably as a latex doll.

Just as she was about to turn off the lights and leave—crack~. An extremely faint yet unmistakable sound of something breaking, piercing in the silence of the hall, came from inside the crate she'd just set down.

Lillian's feet stopped. She went rigid.

“Wh… what was that?”

Then, a massive wave of familiar magical energy erupted from the crate without warning!

BWOMMMMM——!!

That was… Celia von Novarian's unique magical wavelength! That deep, ocean-like high-tier mana!

“This? This is Celia-chan's magical signature?!”

Lillian's eyes went wide. The magical clasp on the crate responded as if receiving a command, automatically springing open with a click. The lid slowly rose.

A wave of panicked confusion seized Lillian's heart. Before she could even process why Celia's mana would be emanating from a crate containing a “non-magical volunteer,” her body had already made the most honest response—hide!

She looked around frantically and spotted a half-open door on the right side of the hall. It was the only unlocked guest room on the first floor.

“Get in there and see what's happening!” Lillian bolted like a startled fawn, half-stumbling, half-crawling into the room. She closed the door behind her with the gentlest touch, leaving only the thinnest sliver of a gap, then held her breath, those emerald eyes locked unblinkingly on the living room through the crack.

Through that narrow view, she witnessed a scene she would never forget for the rest of her life.

The black latex stump that had been lying limbless in the crate was now slowly, impossibly, levitating into the air with no external assistance whatsoever.

Then, the magical alloy lockbox that Celia had teleported into the corner of the living room beforehand—meant for storing belongings—drifted over, pulled by an invisible telekinetic force.

Click. A key inserted itself into the lock and turned. The lid popped open. Two ordinary-looking black rubber rings floated out—space storage rings!

The suspended black stump moved.

Those two smooth, truncated thigh stumps aligned precisely with the two floating rings.

Hummm~!

A ripple of spatial distortion flashed. At the cross-section where the rings met the thigh stumps, a pair of long, straight legs wrapped in black latex materialized from thin air!

Once her legs were restored, she telekinetically guided the space rings back up, expanding them, and slipped them over both shoulders.

Hummm~!

Another wave of distortion, and those slender, elegant arms returned to her body.

The “Number One” who could only wriggle like a worm moments ago had, in the blink of an eye, transformed back into a fully limbed, devastatingly curvaceous beauty.

She stood in place, slowly rolling and flexing her newly reattached limbs. Her shoulders rotated with a series of pops, her wrists twisted with fluid dexterity, her toes lightly tested the floor's support.

“Hoooo~~!”

A long, drawn-out sigh of extreme languor and satisfaction passed through the sealed black hood. It sounded like a cat that had just woken from a nap—radiating ineffable contentment.

Then the black figure stretched hugely, every joint in her body cracking in a cascade of pops. The tight-fitting black catsuit stretched with her movements into devastatingly alluring curves, reflecting a dazzling oily sheen under the crystal chandelier.

And then Lillian saw what broke her completely. The black figure raised a hand, touched a single fingertip to the edge of the latex at her throat.

“Release—.” With a pulse of mana, the black latex encasing the entire head receded like a tide, revealing the smooth, hairless skull beneath.

Next, she cast an exquisite localized reversal spell. Light flashed, and that head of silver-white hair—previously shaved clean, luminous as moonlight—grew back instantly, cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall. The bare brow ridges sprouted thick lashes and those signature silver eyebrows once more.

What emerged was a face of breathtaking, otherworldly beauty, wearing a hint of lazy amusement, beautiful enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

That was… Celia von Novarian's face.

[It's… it's really Celia-chan?!] Lillian clapped a hand over her mouth from behind the door, stifling the scream that nearly escaped. Her pupils contracted violently, her brain like an overloaded mana engine, emitting a hum on the edge of total collapse.

[How… how is this possible?! The Number One who was with me for all seven days of the experiment… was Celia herself?!]

Countless images flashed through her mind in a frenzy: suspending Number One for the hanging experiment, cramming Number One into the centrifuge until she lost bladder control, holding Number One over a urinal in the men's bathroom, and all those nights where she'd embraced this so-called “volunteer” and secretly masturbated to climax against her back…

“Oh god, what have I done…” Lillian felt the sky crashing down. The shame and mortification turned her legs to jelly, and she collapsed onto the floor.

Yet, the “star” out in the living room wasn't about to give Lillian much time for a breakdown.

“Uurgh~! Cough cough cough… hahhh~~! Finally, over.” Celia muttered to herself as she removed the deep-throat gag and nasal tubes.

That familiar voice rang out—slightly hoarse, but that timbre, that cadence! One hundred percent the aloof, elegant genius sorceress herself.

Celia raised a hand, gently stroking her newly reattached thigh, fingertips gliding over the latex surface with a zzzt zzzt of friction.

“Ahh~, what a wonderful seven days~!”

She narrowed those ice-blue eyes, and her face broke into a smile Lillian had never seen before—one that completely contradicted her usual image, dripping with perversion and satisfaction.

“Instructor Lillian's body~ is really so soft, so fragrant, so sensitive♥~.”

Hearing those words, Lillian trembled violently behind the door, as if struck by lightning.

Celia continued speaking as she slid her newly reattached hand down between her thighs.

Down there, although the vibrating rod had been removed, the prolonged stretching and the stimulation of reattachment had left everything in an extremely sensitive state.

Squelch~, squish~.

Right there in front of that slightly ajar door, without the slightest hint of shame, she began working her fingers along the slick folds of her dripping pussy. The obscene, wet sounds were clearly audible.

“Hahh~, just thinking about Instructor's cute little body in that latex suit, squatting over the urinal in the men's bathroom to pee~! It makes me want to cum so badly♥~!”

[Wh… what?!] Lillian's eyes went wide.

[She knew about all of that?! Wasn't she supposed to be blind and deaf?!]

Celia's voice continued, suffused with the intoxication of someone savouring a fond memory: “And that taste of feeding me her drool mixed with semen—absolutely divine! Better than any aphrodisiac!”

“Every mouthful felt like Instructor was pouring her own depravity directly into my stomach♥~!”

[Se… semen?! What semen?! What is she talking about?!]

Lillian's brain was about to crash. Suddenly, she remembered the nutrient paste she'd been consuming, remembered that for seven days she'd not only eaten it herself every day but had also fed it to Celia mouth-to-mouth. A wave of indescribable nausea surged up, tangled with an even more intense sense of transgression.

[Could it be… could those nutrient paste tubes have been… laced with semen?!]

Just as Lillian's entire worldview was undergoing catastrophic restructuring, Celia, out in the living room, seemed to sense something.

She didn't stop what she was doing—if anything, her fingers worked even harder. At the same time, she subtly turned her head at an angle imperceptible to anyone watching, and those ice-blue eyes found the gap in the door with surgical precision, gazing directly at the room where Lillian was hiding.

In those eyes was nothing but the predator's amusement at seeing prey caught in the net. The corner of her mouth curved into a triumphant smile.

[Hehe~, Lillian-chan, can you hear me? Can you see me? Every word I'm saying is for your ears, you know~. From this moment on, that image of the 'perfect student' in your mind has shattered completely, hasn't it?]

[What's replaced it is a perverted, depraved 'demon student' who's been playing you like a fiddle this whole time♥~! So, then… what will you do next~? I simply can't wait to find out~!]

Celia cackled inwardly as she increased the force and speed of her fingers, performing a lewd symphony called “Guided Corruption” in the silence of that living room.

“Mm~, this round of the game was really satisfying~!” Celia continued her filthy ministrations while pretending to be completely oblivious to the presence spying from behind the door, carrying on with her “soliloquy.”

“All that stress from family politics and piled-up coursework just vanished! Tomorrow, I report back to the Academy to see Lillian-chan…” Her voice carried a sated laziness, like someone who'd just pulled off a delightfully wicked prank.

“Better clean myself up first so nothing's exposed. Speaking of which, that package I ordered to my Academy dorm should have arrived by now~. I wonder how those recordings from the Bondage Tea Party turned out. Hopefully, they didn't make me look too awful…”

At this, Lillian's entire body jolted behind the door!

[The Bondage Tea Party?! That Witch's Bondage Tea Party! Wasn't that the address on the package that was misdelivered to me?! So the woman in those recording crystals… really was Celia herself?! All those humiliating scenes of being trained, being led around on a leash like a bitch… she performed every single one of them herself?!]

Lillian felt her worldview fracturing in that instant. The genius sorceress hailed as the Empire's future hope, the one who was always elegant and composed, the most trusted and admired protégée she'd ever had—secretly indulging in this kind of depraved…

“Whatever, I'll go take a nice bath first, then sleep.” Celia stretched, the black catsuit pulling even tighter, perfectly tracing every devastating curve of her body. She appeared completely off-guard, utterly unaware that her “little secrets” were being overheard.

Behind the door, Lillian pressed trembling hands over her mouth, desperately suppressing the shock roiling inside her.

“What a reckless child! This is absolutely outrageous!” she raged internally, her voice pressed so low it was nearly inaudible.

“Using her own teacher as a plaything! Treating something this dangerous like a game! This is… this is simply…” But her body was far more honest than her words.

That tremor rising from the depths of her spine, that perverse thrill of being toyed with and manipulated yet feeling inexplicably aroused—it was assaulting her nerves with abandon.

She realized her thighs were pressing together involuntarily. That pussy between her legs, already hypersensitive from prolonged chemical stimulation, was now flooding with clear arousal, turning the inside of the latex suit into an absolute mess.

“N-no! How can I…” Lillian's right hand had already moved beyond her control, reaching between her legs, rubbing through the latex at that swollen, engorged little nub.

“I should be angry, I should confront her—why, why is my body…”

Squish~, squish~… The faintest wet sounds filled the room—her fingers sliding across the slick latex surface. Her breathing grew heavier and heavier, her gaze unfocusing.

Out in the living room, Celia was subtly watching the guest room door through the corner of her eye, her sharp senses picking up every telltale sound leaking through the crack—a racing heartbeat, wet sounds, and the desperate, barely suppressed panting.

Her lips curved into a smile of absolute triumph.

[Hehe~, just as I predicted. Lillian-chan may be saying “outrageous” with her mouth, but her body is adorably honest~.]

[The transgressive thrill of being deceived and toyed with by her most trusted student, compounded by seven days of cumulative drug effects from the nutrient paste~… right about now, she should be absolutely burning with need~?]

To keep the show from ending too soon, Celia pretended she'd noticed nothing, lazily rolling her shoulders.

“Hoo~, my body's still a bit stiff… I'll head upstairs for a bath.” She deliberately amplified her footsteps, sauntering toward the staircase. As she passed the guest room door, she could hear the slick wet sounds and Lillian's desperately stifled moans even more clearly.

[Wonderful~! Even smoother than I imagined! This adorable little loli instructor is definitely cursing me for being “outrageous” while furiously masturbating herself right to the edge~?]

Tap, tap, tap…

The footsteps faded. With a creak, the second-floor bathroom door opened and shut.

Inside the guest room, Lillian finally exhaled in relief upon hearing Celia go upstairs—but her hand didn't stop.

“Hahh~! Almost got caught…” She leaned against the door, gasping for air. “But… but why… I should be angry… why does it feel even more exciting instead♥?!”

The sound of running water drifted down from above—Celia really had gone to take a bath and wouldn't be coming back down anytime soon. This gave Lillian a “safe” environment for masturbation.

“J-just once… I'll take care of this and get out of here…” Face flushed scarlet, she made excuses to herself, then without hesitation plunged her fingers into her already-flooded pussy.

Squelch~! Squelch~!

The sticky wet sounds were deafeningly loud in the quiet room. Lillian's mind was split between the image of Celia masturbating in her latex suit just moments ago and the realization that she'd been manipulated for seven straight days. The transgressive thrill of it was driving her nearly insane.

“Hahh♥~! Celia-chan… you naughty girl, playing your instructor like a fool… mmngh♥~!” Lillian, face blazing crimson, “scolded” Celia under her breath even as her fingers couldn't stop digging into her latex-wrapped cunt.

Meanwhile, upstairs in the bathroom, Celia hadn't rushed to bathe at all. She'd turned the faucet to full blast, then used the cover of darkness to lean against the second-floor railing, gazing down from above to “surveil” the slightly ajar guest room door below.

She couldn't see the specifics without activating scrying magic, but from the wavering slivers of light leaking through the crack and the faint sounds drifting up, she could perfectly reconstruct everything happening inside.

[Lillian-chan~, enjoy yourself. This is just the appetizer, you know~. There's much more to come…]

Inside the guest room, Lillian slumped against the door, her body still trembling faintly. That brief session of self-pleasure under cover of the running water upstairs had been short but devastatingly intense. Now her legs were jelly, the inside of her latex suit an absolute swamp, every breath carrying the lingering afterglow.

The water upstairs was still rushing, punctuated by Celia humming some unidentifiable tune.

“Hoo~, she's still bathing… doesn't seem like she'll come down for a while…” Lillian forced herself upright on trembling legs. She knew this was her last chance. She had to leave now, while Celia was still enjoying her bath.

“Can't wait any longer… if she finishes and comes down to find me still here…” The thought of being caught red-handed in such a mortifying scene sent a shiver down Lillian's spine. She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and tried to suppress the heat still roiling through her body.

“Now!” Lillian reached out with trembling fingers and gripped the cold door handle.

Cli… ck~. Feather-light, agonizingly slow. The gap widened inch by inch.

The hall was still dark, the only light a faint glow leaking from under the second-floor bathroom door, and the continuous rush of water—Lillian's best cover.

She poked half her head out like a thief, those eyes behind the black-framed glasses darting nervously in every direction. Only after confirming the hall was truly empty did she dare squeeze her body through.

Squeak… squeak…

No matter how careful her movements, the form-fitting black latex suit still produced tiny friction sounds at the inner thighs and underarms. In the dead silence, these sounded practically like thunder, making Lillian's scalp tingle with fear.

She didn't even dare take full strides, reduced to tiptoeing in her pink fluffy slippers, inching toward the front door step by agonizing step.

Ten meters… five meters… three meters…

A distance that would normally take a few quick strides stretched out like a century. Lillian pressed her hand hard against her pounding heart, terrified her own noises would drown out the water running upstairs.

Finally, her hand found the door handle.

Click. The bolt slid open. Lillian felt like a prisoner seeing daylight for the first time upon release.

[Phewww~~! Safe now, gotta get out of here!] She chanted silently, then yanked the door open. Not even caring about the cold night air rushing in past her collar, she slipped out in a flash, never once looking back, vanishing into the darkness—leaving behind only the fleeing white blur of her lab coat.

Yet, this little loli instructor, congratulating herself on her “narrow escape,” had no idea that her every move had been under another pair of eyes the entire time.

The bathroom faucet was indeed running—but it was nothing more than a diversionary backdrop Celia had created.

At that moment, she stood barefoot on her newly reattached, long and pale legs, silent as a ghost by the second-floor railing. The black catsuit had been deactivated, exposing expanses of snow-white skin gleaming in the moonlight.

Those ice-blue eyes, glimmering with a predatory light in the darkness, had captured the entire sequence—Lillian's cautious peeking, her tiptoed creeping, and her final panicked flight—with perfect precision.

Watching Lillian's terrified, tail-between-her-legs scramble, the smile on Celia's face deepened and deepened until it became a curve of bewitching, almost demonic beauty.

“Heh, heh… she ran.” She narrowed her eyes, whispering softly, like the most seasoned hunter watching prey walk step by step into a carefully laid trap. The satisfaction and delight practically oozed from every pore.

“She didn't rush out to confront me. She didn't choose to expose my identity on the spot~.”

“She chose—'to run.'” Celia extended the pink tip of her tongue, slowly licking her lips, eyes glinting with playful menace.

“Which means… Lillian-chan, you have a guilty conscience. You're afraid I'll discover you were eavesdropping, afraid I'll find out you were hiding in that room masturbating, and most of all, afraid to face the 'bad student' who's been playing you like a puppet~.”

“Since you've chosen evasion and concealment, that means—the contract of 'complicity' has already been signed, unilaterally, by you♥~.” Celia turned and walked toward the still-running bathroom.

“So then, I'll take my bath, get a good night's sleep, and tomorrow go enjoy my instructor's adorable act of 'I don't know anything'~. Mm-hm, this is where the real game begins… Good night, my dear Instructor, Lillian♥.”

The next morning.

When the first rays of sunlight streamed into the Academy's faculty office, Lillian was sitting behind her desk with enormous dark circles under her eyes, looking somewhat dazed.

She wore the familiar lab coat buttoned all the way to the top, and had even put on a scarf, pulled tight to hide the sensitive red marks on her neck from removing the latex suit. Those heavy black-framed glasses were back on her nose, as if she could recover some sense of security in her “instructor” identity through them alone.

“Haaahh~~.” Lillian let out a cavernous yawn. She held a quill pen but couldn't focus on the documents before her.

After fleeing the villa last night, she'd forced herself into a cold shower to calm down. But the moment she closed her eyes, her mind would replay that world-shattering scene—the black stump transforming back into Celia, then speaking in that lazy, filthy tone about how “Instructor Lillian's body is so soft”—words dripping with intimacy.

“Was that really Celia-chan…” Lillian pressed her palm to her forehead in distress. She simply couldn't reconcile the image—the student who was always graceful, refined, who spoke in soft tones—secretly being that kind of… that kind of…

She couldn't bear to think further. Because once she did, she'd realize all over again just how many unhinged things she'd done to Celia over these seven days.

“If she finds out I discovered the truth…” Lillian shuddered and didn't dare continue the thought. The mortification and social death were almost enough to drown her.

“S-so! As long as I pretend I don't know anything! Pretend I never went to the villa last night, that I just left the crate in the living room and left! That… that should be enough to get through this, right?!” Lillian was frantically constructing psychological defences, trying to maintain this last fig leaf.

Knock knock knock— At that moment, someone rapped on the office door. That familiar, elegant voice—the one that now made Lillian's blood run cold—drifted in.

“Instructor, Lillian, it's Celia. I'm here to report back from my leave.”

“Eeeek——!!!” Lillian went rigid, nearly sliding off her chair. She scrambled to shove the purple box peeking out from the corner of her desk deeper into the pile of books, then took a deep breath and called out in a quavering voice: “P-p-p-please come in!”

Click. The door opened, and morning sunlight poured across the threshold as a goddess-like figure stepped inside.

It was Celia.

She wore the Novarian Academy's signature uniform, the tailored jacket tracing her perfect waistline, a short skirt revealing long legs wrapped in black stockings. That silver-white hair cascaded softly down her back, and her face wore that flawless, impregnable smile of elegance.

She looked exactly like a model honour student who'd just returned from handling family affairs—dusty from travel, eager to resume her studies. Not a trace of last night's shadow: the catsuit, the flooded cunt she'd been fingering, the stream of filthy words.

“Good morning, Instructor.” Celia walked to the desk with graceful steps, offering a slight bow.

“I spent the past few days in the Lower District handling some family messes, plus follow-up on Miss Mare-01's situation. I'm sorry I couldn't help you with the final calibration experiments for the space rings.” She spoke with complete sincerity, those ice-blue eyes brimming with apology.

“The conditions down there were truly awful. I was covered in grime. I had to scrub myself for ages in the dormitory bath before I dared come see you.”

Listening to this watertight lie, Lillian's hands clenched the hem of her skirt beneath the desk.

[Liar! You were in the villa last night! In that shameless state!]

But she didn't dare expose it. She could only nod stiffly and play along: “Oh, is… is that so… you've worked hard…”

“By the way, Instructor.” Celia appeared to recall something, asking with concern, “That 'volunteer' Mare-01 I arranged for you—was she doing alright? Did the data collection go smoothly?”

BOOM——!! The instant the words “volunteer” left Celia's lips, Lillian's face flushed crimson, then went deathly white. Could she say it wasn't smooth?! What she really wanted to say was: “Smooth or not—you damn well know, you terrible child!!”

“Sm-smooth! Very smooth!” Lillian stammered, her eyes darting everywhere, unable to meet Celia's gaze. “She… she was very cooperative… the calibration d-d-data came out perfectly…”

“That's good.” Celia's face showed a relieved smile. “The poor thing was cursed with a mental affliction, her teammates all died in an accident, and she's rather reclusive by nature. Sigh. But she really is a patient, enduring girl. I hope these few days of experiments weren't too much trouble for you.”

Watching Celia put on that innocent expression of “grieving for the victim,” Lillian felt her stomach clench with agonizing pressure.

[This child… she orchestrated the entire thing herself, and yet she can keep a perfectly straight face while performing this act with me…] Lillian's face was slick with cold sweat and had turned a shade resembling liver. She had no idea what to say. She just wanted to bluff her way through.

But just as she thought she'd survived this hurdle, Celia let out a soft sigh, a touch of distress crossing her features.

“Ah, speaking of which… something unfortunate happened.” As she spoke, Celia glanced casually around the office.

“When I got back to my dormitory just now, I tried to find a package I'd ordered… the tracking says it should have arrived ages ago. But I searched everywhere near my dorm door and couldn't find it.”

She tapped a finger against her chin, a hint of puzzlement in her voice: “It's a purple box… and inside it is… well, a girl's little secret. If it's gone missing, that would be quite troublesome.”

Ba-dump! Lillian's heart skipped a violent beat.

Purple box! Little secret?!

That very piece of evidence—currently buried under a pile of books, stuffed with vibrating eggs and dildos—felt like a branding iron, radiating heat even through the layers of paper!

“Could it be that the student doing deliveries… accidentally brought it to the wrong place?” Celia mused, taking a step toward Lillian's desk on those long legs.

“After all, William has been delivering nutrient paste to you on my behalf these past few days… could he have mixed in my personal package by accident and delivered it here?”

Those beautiful eyes stared straight at Lillian—clear as crystal, as though she were merely making a reasonable deduction.

But Lillian felt that gaze like an X-ray, piercing straight through the desk to the hidden box beneath.

What do I do?! If she produced it now, she'd be admitting she'd kept a student's package for days! The packaging had been opened! The contents had been disturbed! And… and the toys inside probably still carried the scent of her own masturbation!

But if she denied it… what if Celia insisted on searching? Or checked the delivery records afterward…

Lillian was drowning in panic and indecision. Cold sweat ran down her forehead, plastering her bangs to her skin.

“Inst… Instructor?” Celia leaned closer, her delicate fragrance growing more intense. “Why are you sweating so much? Are you hot? Or perhaps…”

Her voice dropped slightly, the innocent tone laced with an imperceptible thread of leading suggestion: “You… haven't seen that box, have you?”

“AH!!! I… I just remembered!!!” Under the crushing psychological pressure, Lillian finally cracked. She shot to her feet so violently she nearly toppled her chair.

“Yes! Yes, there was! I think… I think there was a purple box!” She frantically dug beneath the deliberately messy pile of books and extracted the purple cardboard box. Her movements were as panicked as if she were handling a bomb about to detonate.

“It was right here! I… I was so busy! I never noticed! It was only when you mentioned it just now that I remembered it was buried underneath!” Lillian held the box out to Celia in both hands. Her guilt made them shake terribly.

“H-here! Since it's yours, take it back quickly!” Lillian presented the resealed—but visibly wrinkled—purple box as though handing over a piece of live ordnance.

Her eyes wandered, utterly unable to meet Celia's. Her mouth continued its stumbling attempt at damage control: “The, um… when it was d-d-d-delivered, the packaging didn't seem very secure! I accidentally bumped it while organizing my books, and the ribbon came undone… but I swear! I absolutely did not open it and look inside! I really just re-tied it for you!”

It was the most transparently guilty defence imaginable. Lillian felt her face burning, dreading that the next second would bring total exposure.

Yet, the expected interrogation never came.

“Oh? So the packaging was just loose and came undone on its own?”

Celia took the box, her face lighting up with an expression of dawning comprehension. Then, as if hugely relieved, she patted her chest with a touch of lingering alarm: “Phew~, that's a relief. I was worried it had come completely open, and you'd seen what was inside.”

She hugged the box to her chest, a perfectly calibrated blush of embarrassment colouring her cheeks, speaking in the tone of a young girl sharing a secret: “After all, what's inside are just some 'little secrets' I use to relieve stress. If you'd seen them, Instructor, you'd definitely think I have some sort of strange fetish, and that would be so embarrassing~.”

“Ahaha… is… is that so… didn't see a thing, absolutely nothing!” Lillian laughed dryly in agreement, while the guilt and shame inside her doubled from Celia's words.

[If you knew I spent an entire week masturbating with your “little secrets,” and even last night when I couldn't sleep, I used them again…]

Just as Lillian was spiralling in her thoughts, Celia's movements with the box paused for a moment. She lowered her head slightly, brought her nose close to the box in her arms, and sniffed delicately. A flicker of confusion crossed her face.

“Hm?” That single soft sound instantly sent Lillian's barely-settled heart rocketing back into her throat.

“Wh-what is it?” Lillian asked tensely, her fingers digging into the edge of the desk.

“This box…” Celia looked up, those clear eyes full of bewilderment. “There seems to be a… very particular smell on it? Mm, a bit musky, and sort of sweet?”

!! Lillian went rigid. That was the scent of her own arousal, left on her hands after masturbating! Because she'd handled the box, it had transferred onto the surface—and the toys inside were even worse! She'd wiped them down, but against Celia's keen sense of smell, there was no hiding it!

Before she could fabricate an excuse, Celia seemed to arrive at her own answer, her expression relaxing into an understanding smile: “Ah, I know. This package has been sitting under the book pile on your desk for days, hasn't it?”

She stepped closer, inhaling deeply of Lillian's scent—that blend of body wash, the faint musk of perspiration, and a certain unmistakable female pheromone that no amount of bathing could fully mask after days of prolonged arousal.

Celia smiled sweetly at Lillian, her tone perfectly innocent: “Since it's been sitting right next to you, it picked up the exact same scent you have on you right now.”

She brought her nose back to the box and sniffed again, as though savouring the fragrance, while her gaze—laden with meaning—slowly traced Lillian's still-flushed face: “Mm… it smells warm, and a little bit sweet… just like how you smell right now, Instructor. It's very comforting.”

“……” Lillian was rendered completely speechless. Looking at this student smiling with such guileless innocence, she couldn't tell whether Celia had truly figured it out or was just playing dumb.

That phrase—“picked up your scent”—landed in Lillian's ears as something closer to: “The whole thing reeks of your pussy juice and horny-bitch smell.”

But Celia's performance was so convincingly innocent—“it sat near you so it absorbed your scent”—that to an uninformed listener, the logic was perfectly sound.

[She… she doesn't know, right? After all, she couldn't see or hear anything back then.] Lillian prayed desperately, but the guilty cold sweat wouldn't stop.

“Well, now that I've found my things, I won't disturb your rest any longer, Instructor.” Celia didn't give Lillian any more time to think. Hugging the box that was “soaked in her instructor's scent,” she offered an elegant bow.

“I'm sorry for all the trouble these past few days with family matters and my package. Please do rest well… and especially make sure to stay hydrated. Your lips look a bit dry, Instructor.”

Leaving behind that seemingly caring remark—with its veiled implication about her “dehydration”—Celia turned and walked out of the office. (Too much squirting will leave you a little dehydrated, meow~.)

Click. As the door shut, Celia's perfect mask dropped instantly.

In the corridor, hugging the box, her lips curved into an arc of extreme delight.

[Oh my~, Lillian-chan was practically about to cry♥. That box absolutely reeked of her arousal juices… and she still forced herself to calmly nod and agree it was 'body scent'~.]

[It seems this seed has thoroughly taken root. Next up… time to prepare the third phase: the 'Shared Secret' game.]

Inside the office, Lillian slid to the floor like a puddle of melted wax, clutching her burning cheeks.

“Picked up my scent… waaahh——!!!” She could still picture the way Celia had pressed her nose against that box and inhaled.

That box contained the vibrating eggs she'd pulled from her own pussy last night, and Celia had said the smell was “comforting”… The dissonant transgression and mortification made Lillian's body start acting up again.

“I'm a pervert… I'm really a perverted instructor…” Lillian whimpered in shame, and between those tightly clenched thighs, the flooding had become utterly hopeless again after that exchange.

Celia, meanwhile, hugged the box and hummed a cheerful tune on her walk back, her steps light as air.

[Lillian-chan's reaction… an absolute perfect score♥~!]

And Lillian, like a wary little hamster, was pressed against the window curtain of her office, peeking through the tiniest gap. Only when she watched that silver-haired, elegant figure grow smaller and smaller, finally disappearing at the end of the path toward the student dormitories with the purple box in her arms, did the breath she'd been holding in her throat finally release.

“Phew—” She deflated like a punctured balloon, collapsing limply back into her office chair. The rigid chair back felt impossibly reassuring.

Lillian raised a hand and gave her still-warm cheeks a few firm slaps, trying to shake herself awake.

“It's fine, don't overthink this, Lillian. It's fine. It's really not that bad.” She chanted like a mantra of self-comfort: “Celia is clever, but based on her reaction just now… she definitely didn't notice! As long as I say nothing, these seven days were just a dream. A bizarre dream nobody will ever know about!”

Having barely managed to calm her racing heart, the adrenaline faded, and reason reclaimed the high ground. What followed was a different kind of worry—deeper, more tangled, harder to articulate.

Lillian pushed up her black-framed glasses, her gaze falling on the empty spot on her desk where the purple box had sat moments ago.

The box was gone, but it had left behind a heavy weight on her mind.

“What on earth is that child thinking…” Lillian ran her fingers through her chestnut bob in frustration.

Although last night at the villa, Celia had said it herself—the whole thing was a “game” to relieve stress from family and coursework. But as an adult, and as an instructor, no matter how Lillian looked at it, this “game” was far too reckless, far too dangerous.

Crating yourself up and shipping yourself to someone as an experimental subject? Filming explicit training videos at an underground club?

“This isn't stress relief—this is walking a tightrope!” Lillian's brow furrowed deeply, her fingers unconsciously drumming the desk.

Her foremost concern was Celia's safety and reputation. Celia von Novarian—that name represented the eldest daughter of the Novarian ducal house, a top-tier aristocratic heir of the Empire, and the Academy's most celebrated genius. She bore the weight of her family's honour and countless expectations.

“What if that package… hadn't been misdelivered to me, but had ended up in the hands of someone with malicious intent?” The mere thought made Lillian's blood run cold.

Those recordings showed Celia's fully exposed body, showed her crawling on all fours like a dog on a man's leash, being humiliated with every manner of device. If any of that got out, Celia's reputation would be destroyed in an instant—it could even become leverage for anyone scheming against House Novarian.

“How can this child be so careless… shipping something like that through normal delivery…” Lillian sighed, filled with the urgent anxiety of watching one's own child stray onto a dangerous path.

And beyond the safety issue, there was another matter that made Lillian feel even more conflicted, something she could barely bring herself to name.

That was—chastity.

Lillian's mind involuntarily summoned the recording footage she'd watched over the past few days. Most of it was solo training, but some scenes unmistakably featured the real thing.

In those images, a girl identical to Celia had expertly worked a man's cock with her mouth, and when that thick thing pushed inside her, the expression on her face—that mixture of pain and surrender. And afterward, filled with semen, that blank yet satisfied look.

“Could it be that Celia-chan has already…” Lillian bit her lower lip, cheeks flushing again, her hands on her knees unconsciously clenching the fabric of her skirt.

“Could she have already… given away her first time?” While it wasn't exactly unusual for nobles in the Empire to have messy private lives, the thought that this student—so cool and pristine on the surface, always so respectful toward her—was secretly a seasoned veteran with possibly chaotic sexual experience…

Meanwhile, she, the instructor, was still a virgin who'd never even held a man's hand. A subtle, complex emotion—part loss, part shock, tinged with an indefinable sense of having been “surpassed”—lingered in Lillian's chest.

“I can't let this go… as her instructor, I have to talk to her.” Lillian shot to her feet. In that moment, she genuinely wanted to rush out, pull Celia back, and deliver a thorough lecture on “self-protection” and “maintaining dignity.”

But the next second, she slumped back down.

“But… how would I even bring it up?” Lillian covered her face in despair. What right did she have to lecture Celia?

Was she supposed to say: “Celia, I accidentally watched your training recordings and I think this is wrong”? Or perhaps: “I know you were the experiment volunteer for these seven days because I was masturbating against you every single night”?

Over these seven days, she'd been both the “volunteer's” tormentor and the degenerate audience member lurking behind a screen, using her student's intimate recordings to masturbate furiously—squirting until she lost control of her bladder.

If Celia learned that her most revered instructor had been watching those training videos every night while moaning “it feels so good” and stuffing vibrating eggs inside herself…

“If I actually tear through that paper wall, what's left of my dignity?! AAAAH!!!” Lillian buried her face in her arms and let out a wail of helpless anguish.

The instant that wall was breached, her dignity as an instructor, her authority as a mentor—all of it would evaporate. Forget lecturing Celia; she'd probably resign on the spot in shame, flee the Novarian Empire overnight, and find some uninhabited mountain cave to spend the rest of her days in hiding.

“No… absolutely not. This secret dies with me.” Lillian's head snapped up, a flash of steely resolve in those emerald eyes behind the glasses.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady the roller coaster of emotions.

“Besides… since Celia chose this discreet way to 'decompress,' it means she doesn't want anyone to know either, right? If I carelessly bring it up, it would only embarrass her—or worse, she might react out of shame and do something even more extreme…” Lillian furnished herself with yet another seemingly perfect excuse.

“Yes, exactly. As a mature, understanding instructor, I should quietly protect my student's privacy.”

Noble words indeed, but her body's response was anything but “mature.” The intense mental struggle and excessive imagination had sent that barely-subsided heat creeping back.

“Mm~, here it comes again…” Lillian reflexively squeezed her thighs together. Although she was now wearing her normal dark skirt with black opaque tights beneath—maintaining her usual habit of going without underwear—her skin seemed to have developed a fierce dependency on the latex suit she'd worn for seven days.

That [Self-Cleaning Magical Latex Suit] was Celia's custom nano-grade alchemical creation. Gossamer-thin, supremely breathable, yet clinging to every inch of skin like a second layer, providing an unparalleled sense of compression and security. The crotch area's inset filling design, especially, constantly cradled her labia and pressed against her sensitive spots like a gentle cupping palm.

And now? This rough lab coat, this stiff-textured skirt, even the tights she normally considered smooth enough—every brush against the delicate skin of her inner thighs felt abrasive, like being sanded down with grit paper.

“How strange… ever since I took off the magical latex, my body hasn't felt right…” Lillian squirmed restlessly in her chair.

Without the suit's all-encompassing tight compression, everything felt loose and slack. Especially the bare zone between her legs—without the inset filling, the breezy emptiness made her feel desperately insecure, and she found herself longing for that suffocating sensation of slick latex filling every crevice.

Her gaze drifted involuntarily to the wastebasket beside her desk, where the last emptied tube from yesterday lay discarded.

That had been the “supply” Celia custom-made specifically for these seven experimental days. Now finished, there was no more. Moreover, after overhearing the truth at the villa, Lillian already knew what foul ingredient had been mixed in—high-concentration semen.

“This is all that naughty child's doing… on purpose…” Remembering how she'd spent seven days like a fool, cradling that fat tube, happily sucking and swallowing, even thinking it tasted rather nice… the shame made Lillian curl her toes into the floor.

“She made me eat that… and I ate it for seven whole days! No wonder it always had that strange musky undertone…” Lillian bit her lip. Reason told her she absolutely must stop thinking about such disgusting things. That body-fluid-laced filth was something any normal person would avoid at all costs!

But her body's response utterly betrayed her will. The bodily memory built up from prolonged high-concentration ingestion, combined with the withdrawal now that the supply was cut—it was tormenting her. She didn't know about the drugs in it, but her body honestly, viscerally missed the sensation of desire being amplified and then thoroughly sated.

Celia's parting remark about her “dry lips” echoed like a curse, leaving Lillian inexplicably parched, her throat burning as if aflame, her salivary glands flooding in desperate craving for that distinctive musky sweetness.

“Wh-what's happening?! I know it's semen…” Lillian clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. “Why… why do I still kind of want to eat it?!”

“Has my body really fallen so far… that I've become addicted to a man's bodily fluids?!”

This misunderstanding of her own body's “depraved instincts” sent her spiralling deeper into self-loathing and panic. She thought she was simply a deviant, fundamentally craving filthy things, utterly unaware that the drug residue was to blame.

Gulp. She grabbed the water cup on her desk and took a huge swig of cold water, trying to quench the fire in her heart and drown out that pathological craving for the musky-sweet taste.

“Calm down, Lillian! It's an illusion! You are NOT the kind of perverted woman who wants to drink semen!” She forcibly redirected her attention to work, attempting to use paperwork as a distraction.

“The top priority right now is submitting this space ring test report. This is Celia's brainchild, and the only legitimate outcome from these seven 'experimental' days.”

Lillian reached for the thick document. When her fingertips grazed the name [Celia von Novarian] on the cover, her heart still couldn't help but tremble.

Before, seeing that name made her think of the genius student who always scored perfectly, elegant and flawless. Now, seeing that name filled her head with nothing but a depraved latex stump-cum-receptacle.

“Mm~! The contrast with Celia-chan is just… absolutely unfair!” Lillian's face reddened, her teeth catching her lower lip. The urge to release could no longer be contained.

Her other hand slipped unbidden beneath the oversized lab coat—not lifting the skirt, but pressing right through the fabric of the long skirt, finding the precise spot between her legs.

Through the layers of skirt and tights, her fingers accurately located that stiff little bead and the slit that was already hopelessly drenched.

“J-just a little rub, to relieve the pressure…”

There, in that sunlit, solemn Academy instructor's office, this bespectacled, lab-coat-wearing intellectual mentor was simultaneously reviewing her student's groundbreaking thesis—a work poised to reshape the Empire's magical history—while beneath the desk, thighs clenched in shame, fingers frantically soothing her restless sex through her stockings and skirt.

She thought she was merely guarding her student's secret in silence. Little did she know, if that “bad student” who had just left could have seen this scene, she would surely have made another bold entry in her little notebook titled “Instructor Lillian's Corruption Plan.”

BANG BANG BANG—! A sudden, completely unexpected burst of rapid knocking shattered the office's fragile soundscape of suppressed gasps and fabric friction!

“HYEEEEK——!!” Lillian launched out of her seat like a hamster whose tail had been stomped mid-snack.

Her entire body jolted. That right hand—still pressed through skirt and tights against her engorged clit, furiously rubbing—snapped away as if electrocuted.

“Hah… hah… hah…” Lillian's heart hammered as though trying to burst from her chest. She gulped air in huge, ragged breaths, her small face going from flushed with arousal to sheet-white with terror.

Today was truly going to be the death of her! First, that “innocent” Celia had scared her half to death. Then, the moment her student finally left, and she'd started to furtively rub at her unbearably itchy privates to release some of the desire that was about to incinerate her sanity—just as she'd found a rhythm, just as her fingers had pushed the soaked stockings into her wet slit, before she could even savour that tingling electric sensation—the door was being hammered!

This chain of shocks had stretched her already-taut nerves to the snapping point, producing a sensation like plummeting in free fall. Even her unsatisfied pussy clenched involuntarily from the extreme tension, squeezing out another gush of warm fluid.

“Instructor, Lillian, there's a package for your lab. It's addressed from Celia-senpai—could you sign for it and pass it to her?” From behind the door came that familiar, energetic male voice—William, the errand-running student.

“C-coming! Just a moment!” Lillian frantically straightened her slightly dishevelled skirt and lab coat, trying to conceal what she'd just been doing.

She took a deep breath and hopped down from the office chair, which was a bit tall for her 145-centimeter frame—when seated, her calves dangled slightly off the floor.

Slap slap slap… She trotted to the door in her pink fluffy slippers, her stride somewhat erratic and faintly comical. The tights on her inner thighs, soaked with arousal, rubbed together slickly as she walked—that cool, slippery sensation a constant reminder of what she'd just been up to.

“Hoo~, morning, Instructor. Here you go, just need your signature on this.”

The door opened, and William held out the package. His gaze was the same as yesterday—polite and slightly flustered, not daring to look too long at this endearingly scatterbrained loli instructor. Presumably the “sexual awakening” shock of seeing her in that full-coverage latex bodysuit configuration a few times prior had been so profound that now, whenever he saw Lillian, his mind involuntarily conjured the alluring curves and camel toe the black catsuit had outlined.

Lillian accepted the package with a flushed face and wandering eyes. But the moment her gaze fell on the packaging, her breath hitched.

It was a familiar purple cardboard box, tied with an elegant black satin ribbon.

[Sender]: Witch's Bondage Tea Party [Item]: Premium Custom · Magical Experiment Auxiliary Equipment [Recipient]: Celia von Novarian

And the address line read: [Novarian Royal Academy of Magic, Top Floor Laboratory Zone, Office 302 (c/o Instructor Lillian)].

[Th-th-this! Why is another one being sent here?!]

Seeing this purple Pandora's box, Lillian's emerald eyes behind the black frames went perfectly round. She knew all too well what kind of “goodies” these boxes contained!

[Could it be… more of those recording crystals, and some new toys?!]

Lillian's thoughts, the instant she saw the box, had already spiralled uncontrollably to last night's masturbation.

Her heart, already restless with arousal, was doused with a ladle of hot oil. It began to blaze and boil.

“Inst… Instructor?” William watched Lillian's face turn so red it seemed about to drip blood, her eyes glazing with a dreamy, almost melting expression. He called out uncertainly, “Are… are you alright?”

“Ah! N-nothing! Thank you!” Lillian snapped back as if from a trance, signing her name with a slightly trembling hand—the characters coming out wobbly and illegible.

Then she mechanically accepted the box, staring fixedly at the purple cardboard as though she were an addict beholding the latest shipment of contraband.

Slam. Door closed, turn around.

She clutched the box like a sleepwalker, drifting back toward her desk.

It wasn't until she'd climbed back into the tall office chair, set the heavy purple box on the empty desktop, and stared at it for a long, long while, that Lillian suddenly realized—she hadn't refused at all. She'd just signed for Celia's package without a moment's hesitation.

This Pandora's box, potentially loaded with explosive toys, now sat quietly on her desk.

And in the entire spacious office, she was completely alone.

“Hah… hah…”

Lillian's breathing grew faster and faster. Her small, pert breasts heaved beneath the lab coat with each ragged gasp.

Those small calves hidden under the desk, sheathed in black tights, rubbed against each other beyond her control. The delicate skin of her inner thighs, sensitized further by earlier ministrations through her skirt, was burning. Those sparks hadn't died—if anything, the presence of this box was stoking them into a blaze, demanding more direct, more aggressive stimulation.

A weed called “rationalization” grew wild in her mind, instantly ensnaring what remained of her crumbling reason.

[I'll just… inspect it!]

[Yes! Just an inspection! As the responsible instructor in charge of this laboratory, I have an obligation to check whether packages delivered to the lab contain any… um, flammable, explosive, or magically-interfering hazardous materials!]

This self-hypnotic excuse wouldn't fool a three-year-old. But for Lillian right now, any excuse or justification was fine—she just needed a pretext to open the box.

She hopped down from the too-tall chair like a thieving little mouse, not even bothering with her slippers.

Those small feet in black tights padded across the carpet, tiptoeing with a stride that was simultaneously ridiculous and frantic, racing to the door.

Click. The crisp sound of a deadbolt engaging. Lillian locked the office door tight.

For absolute certainty, she even pressed herself against the heavy soundproofed oak door like a gecko, listening for a moment. Her lower body—wrapped in stockings, the outline of her camel toe faintly visible through the sheer fabric—even unconsciously ground against the surface a couple of times.

Confirming the corridor was empty and no one would barge in, she turned back toward the desk, face flushed, panting hard, running like a bitch in heat.

She stood at the desk's edge, palms braced on the surface, staring at the purple box.

Gulp… Lillian swallowed hard, her throat producing a sound of desperate craving.

Trembling hands reached for the box. Slender, pale fingers, slick with sweat, gently pinched the black satin ribbon.

Hissss—— The sound of ribbon and wrapping being torn away was jarringly loud in the silent office, like the ripping away of Lillian's last scrap of modesty.

The lid rose slowly, releasing a richer, more provocative blend of violet fragrance and a distinctive rubber scent.

What met her eyes was not the simple vibrators or anal beads her imagination had conjured, but a set of equipment that had clearly been meticulously designed—“professionally” crafted, one might say.

Most prominent was a pair of cutting-edge magical VR goggles, their black housing emanating dark pulses of mana. Beside them sat a matching pair of in-ear miniature earbuds with magical conductors.

Next to this high-tech section was a set of familiar-looking medical-grade electrical stimulation pads, etched with intricate mana-conducting traces.

And in the corner of the box, two utterly ordinary-looking black rubber bands lay quietly.

But Lillian recognized them instantly! Those weren't rubber bands at all—they were the [Spatial Folding Rings] that she and Celia and a team of elite students had been developing and refining around the clock—a breakthrough with the potential to reshape the Empire's strategic landscape!

“Ce… Celia, this child, actually took a national-level research project and turned it into… into a prop for this kind of… filthy game?!” Lillian's voice shook with a volatile mixture of professorial outrage and deviant excitement battling inside her skull.

And of course, at the centre of the box, that magical recording crystal pulsing with suggestive pink light, remained the “soul” of the entire kit.

Ba-dump! Ba-dump! Ba-dump!

Looking at all of this, Lillian felt her heart was about to leap straight out of her chest. The implications of this combination were glaringly obvious—visual brainwashing, auditory conditioning, nerve stimulation, plus spatial isolation so extreme it frightened even her!

This was absolutely not some ordinary masturbation toy set. This was a full immersive restraint system designed for deep psychological conditioning and extreme training!

Then her gaze caught something at the bottom of the box—a letter sealed with black wax, pressed beneath the recording crystal.

Lillian's curiosity clawed at her like cat paws, making her itch all over. That cultivated, pathological craving for deviant things had utterly overwhelmed any remaining moral boundaries of an instructor.

“I'll just… just peek at what the letter says…”

With trembling fingers, she gathered a wisp of fire element at her fingertip, blending in a touch of wind magic, precisely controlling temperature and airflow to direct the heat at the wax seal.

Under the carefully calibrated warmth, the hardened adhesive gradually lost its grip, softening. Lillian peeled back the seal with surgical care, ensuring no trace of tampering remained, then slid out the letter.

The stationery was embossed with a black rose entwined in thorns—the exclusive emblem of the Witch's Bondage Tea Party.

Esteemed Miss Cethia: Greetings. The new implements you provided have received unanimous praise from our club's test subjects (slaves). Our director will be in touch regarding subsequent procurement and collaboration. Please look forward to it.

Additionally, the latest "game" recording from your personal participation session has been converted to a flawless first-person perspective by our top-tier illusion architects.

Please wear the included magical VR goggles and earbuds, and you may once again experience that wonderful "game" as if you were right there.

(Note: If combined with the improved version of the [Self-Cleaning Magical Latex] you previously provided for full-body enclosure restraint, you will achieve an even more advanced experience—one that completely blurs the boundary between reality and illusion.)

— Witch's Bondage Tea Party

“Hah…” Lillian barely dared to breathe as she finished reading.

“Cethia… that must be the alias Celia uses at that underground club.” She murmured, feeling her worldview refresh yet again.

So Celia wasn't just going there to be a trained “performer”—she'd been peddling the magical latex and space rings they'd painstakingly developed in the laboratory as novel sex toys to a fetish club?!

But what truly made Lillian's breath quicken and her knees go weak was the second half of the letter—[first-person perspective] and [paired with the improved magical latex].

Her gaze welded itself to the VR goggles and earbuds.

Lillian swallowed painfully again, the accumulated saliva lodged in her throat.

Meaning… if she put on those goggles, she could experience everything from Celia's point of view—being led on a leash like a dog, being fucked senseless by vibrators, being humiliated with every conceivable device—as though it were happening to her own body?

And the letter had mentioned the thing she knew most intimately—magical latex.

[Just wear the latex suit, and I'd get a fully immersive masochistic experience?!]

This thought embedded itself like a curse from the abyss, rooting deep in Lillian's already-corrupting mind.

The urge to strip naked immediately, pour on the latex, don the VR goggles, and experience the mysterious “game” described in the letter crawled across her heart like ten thousand ants.

“No… not now…”

Lillian clenched her teeth, summoning every last shred of willpower to wrench her gaze from the box. Her fingers had gouged shallow marks into the desk's edge.

“It's daytime… if I did something like that now… what if someone came looking for me… or knocked on the door like William just did…”

She imagined herself wrapped in full-body latex, wearing VR goggles, writhing and moaning like a bitch in heat in her own office—maybe even losing control and squirting everywhere—only to be walked in on by a colleague or student. That would be social execution a million times worse than death! (Although she'd already sealed the door shut, the sheer terror of daytime debauchery was itself too thrilling~.)

“Hold on… I must hold on!” Lillian forced herself through deep breaths like an addict on the verge of relapse.

“At the very least… wait until tonight… yes! After work hours! After everyone's left the building!”

“During the day… I absolutely must not do this kind of thing. And I just want to know what Celia's been up to in private, that's all…”

And so, in this sun-drenched, solemn instructor's office, Lillian endured the longest, most excruciating daytime of her entire life.

Every passing minute was a slow slicing of the flesh.

She couldn't even concentrate long enough to grade a single document. Every time she picked up a quill, her brain automatically conjured the VR goggles and that line from the letter—[flawless first-person perspective conversion].

Her body burned continuously. The tights on her inner thighs had long been soaked through with intermittent secretions, stiffening and growing sticky from repeated cycles of dampening and drying.

She could only fidget like a child with ADHD—squirming, clenching her legs—trying to alleviate that maddening emptiness through the friction of fabric.

Finally.

The clock hands ticked their way through the interminable afternoon. The sky outside gradually surrendered to nightfall.

[Current Time: 20:00 PM]

Eight o'clock in the evening.

The Academy's final bell had rung long ago, and the last whispers of human activity had faded with it. The moment the building's main door sealed itself with a dull, heavy click of magical locks, the entire Magical Instruments Research Building became a hermetically sealed island.

“Haaah—”

Lillian exhaled a long, scorching breath. Those emerald eyes behind the black frames held not a trace of a scholar's clarity anymore. Only madness and raw lust, concentrated to the point of dissolution.

“Finally… it's nighttime.”

Click—click—click.

Three crisp metallic bolts snapped shut at the end of the silent corridor. Lillian locked the heavy, soundproofed oak door of her top-floor office with finality. For absolute assurance, she layered three additional [Sealing Barriers] on top.

Tonight, this sacred office belonging to the Empire's premier magical instruments expert was truly transformed into an isolated island. No one could enter. No sound, no scent of depravity, would escape.

Lillian leaned her back against the door, gasping in great heaving breaths. Her pert little breasts, swollen from extreme tension and arousal, rose and fell violently beneath the lab coat.

She strode quickly to the wide mahogany desk, swept her arm across it, and sent the precious documents, data reports, and quill pens—papers that could influence the trajectory of the Empire's magical development—crashing unceremoniously onto the carpet.

The once orderly, solemn academic workspace was cleared in an instant.

With trembling hands, Lillian brought over the purple box. She removed its contents piece by piece, laying them out neatly across the bare desktop.

One bottle of [Self-Cleaning Magical Latex], filled with viscous black fluid. One pair of black [Magical VR Goggles], cutting-edge in design, humming with dark mana. One pair of [In-Ear Miniature Earbuds] with magical conduction wires. A dozen or so [Wireless Electrical Stimulation Pads] bearing metal electrode contacts, medical adhesive on the back. Two miniaturized [Spatial Folding Rings] (black rubber bands). And one [Magical Recording Crystal], pulsing with suggestive pink light, waiting to be activated.

Looking at this desk full of training implements, every one designed to demolish female reason and strip away dignity, Lillian felt her legs barely able to hold her. The savage desire that the “special” nutrient paste had been fermenting inside her body for days had finally broken free of all restraint, surging as a molten tide straight into her lower belly.

“Hahh~~, mmfh~~.”

Lillian tore open the lab coat buttons impatiently, flinging the garment—that symbol of professorial dignity—to the floor. Next came the oversized beige sweater, yanked over her head. Finally, she peeled away the dark skirt and the black tights that had been soaked with arousal and digging into the crease of her thighs.

Her 145-centimeter body—petite yet plush with soft curves, snow-white—was exposed without a stitch of covering under the bright magical lighting.

Days of continuous arousal and self-pleasure had brought Lillian's body to a state of utterly obscene ripeness. Her skin was flushed faintly pink all over, fine beads of sweat clinging to that delicate, fair surface. Her perky little breasts bore two swollen, angry-red nipples standing stiffly at attention, rising and falling with her panting. Between her thighs, her drenched, ruined pussy was drooling uncontrollable rivers of clear, sticky fluid down her inner thighs, dripping onto the carpet.

Face burning, Lillian picked up the bottle of [Self-Cleaning Magical Latex] filled with black viscous liquid. Without a moment's hesitation, she unscrewed the cap and upended the cool, slippery black fluid directly onto the crown of her chestnut-brown bob.

Splaaaash——

The mercurial black latex flowed from her scalp, rapidly engulfing her forehead, her cheeks, sealing her eyes, leaving only a delicate teardrop-shaped breathing aperture over mouth and nose. The chestnut hair at the back of her head was automatically sculpted by the latex into two signature black twin-tails.

The liquid continued its descent, swallowing her pale throat, collarbones, erect breasts, flat stomach. When the living substance reached the juncture of her thighs, that familiar, devastating “inset filling protocol” activated instantly.

Slurp! Squelch!

Torrents of black latex surged in through the seam of her labia! It penetrated along the vaginal walls, filling every fold, reaching all the way to her cervix. Her urethra was claimed by a thin tendril flowing in reverse, reaching her bladder. Her asshole was invaded by a rush of slippery fluid penetrating thirty centimetres into her rectum, forming a soft internal plug.

“Hngghh♥~~!” Lillian let out a sugary, drawn-out moan and collapsed into the leather swivel chair beside the desk, legs giving way.

That intense fullness, that sensation of foreign intrusion, combined with the latex suit's seamless, crushing embrace—it filled the void inside her instantly. This gapless second skin cut off all contact with the outside air, bringing a perverse sense of security.

Panting hard, she didn't stop. Lillian took the in-ear buds and pushed them deep into her ear canals, completely blocking all external sound. Then she placed the black [Magical VR Goggles], humming with dark mana, over her latex-encased face.

The edges of the goggles fused perfectly with the magical latex of the mask, leaving not a single gap for light to leak through. Lillian's vision and hearing were now entirely in the hands of this device.

She extended a trembling finger, channelling a thread of mana, and activated the pink [Magical Recording Crystal] on the desk.

Hummm—

The blackness before her eyes erupted into light. The VR goggles and recording crystal established a psychic link. Lillian's field of view filled with a virtual room bathed in suggestive pink light. Simultaneously, a deep, emotionless synthetic male voice spoke through the earbuds.

[Welcome to the Witch's Bondage Tea Party premium immersive “game.” Please ensure all accessories are in place. Prepare to receive your supreme ecstasy.]

Following the cold mechanical prompt in her ears, Lillian's VR view displayed a clear full-body holographic projection marked with red indicator dots, along with a floating virtual instruction manual.

[Step One: Affix the electrical stimulation pads to the indicated positions. Since you are already wearing the improved magical latex, the pads will automatically permeate the latex layer and adhere directly to your skin. Note: Once applied, they cannot be removed without physical contact or magical command.]

“Hahh… mmfh…” Lillian stared at the holographic figure. Those emerald eyes, misted with excitement behind the latex hood, gleamed with something feral.

With shaking hands, she grabbed the full set of wireless stimulation pads from the desk—over a dozen coin-sized metal contacts with powerful medical adhesive on the back, glinting cold and dangerous under the light.

“First one… underarm…”

Following the VR's red dot guide, she raised her slender arm, wrapped in black latex. Her equally latex-clad fingers gripped a pad and pressed it firmly into the most sensitive patch of soft flesh in her right armpit.

Zzzt—

The instant it touched the magical latex, the pad came alive, dissolving straight through the black “second skin” and bonding firmly to Lillian's actual skin beneath. The outer layer of latex healed instantly, sealing the pad inside with a flawless surface.

“Ngh!” A sensation like an ant's bite—the faintest sting of static—made Lillian shudder.

“Next… left underarm… inner thighs…”

Like a prisoner assembling her own execution device, she followed the holographic blueprint, pressing pad after pad onto her body's most vulnerable nerve clusters.

Inner wrists, backs of the knees, femoral artery points at the inner thigh crease… every spot was one that would tickle at the lightest touch.

When she reached the tenth pad, her fingers paused. Her breathing grew dangerously heavy.

The two red dots in the VR display were flashing urgently atop the holographic figure's chest—right on the peaks of those two small mounds.

“N-nipples…”

Lillian bit her lower lip, letting out a sugary gasp through the latex mask's breathing aperture. She took two pads and, through the black latex, pressed them precisely onto her two nipples—already erect and stiff, rising and falling with each breath.

“Gghk♥~!”

The instant the pads penetrated the latex and cold metal contacts met the tender tips of her nipples, the jarring foreign-body sensation combined with faint electrical stimulation made Lillian's back arch violently. Her hips twisted hard in the swivel chair.

“And… there's more…”

She looked down at the remaining pads in her hand. The last red dots in the VR view hovered over the spot that made her face burn hottest—between her legs.

One directly on the clitoris. The rest… at the perineum, flush against the edge of the inset anal plug.

“So embarrassing… do I really have to put them there…” Lillian's face felt hot enough to bleed—though only she could see. But the sheer transgression of surrendering her body completely to a machine, to a program designed by someone else, was already pushing her sanity to the breaking point.

“Hahh~, I can't worry about it anymore… if I'm going to play… I'm going all in…”

Utterly ruled by lust, Lillian gritted her teeth, reached without hesitation between her legs, and slapped a pad firmly over that latex-wrapped, hopelessly drenched little bead. Then she pressed the rest against her perineum.

“Hoo—” All pads were in position.

Lillian now had every sensitive point on her body targeted by metal contacts hidden beneath the latex. A single command, and current would surge through every limb. The VR goggles' display bloomed with ambient pink. The brief tutorial concluded, and the recording crystal's advanced illusion architecture formally seized control of all of Lillian's senses.

The view shifted. First-person perspective plunged directly into a dim underground training chamber saturated with the smell of leather and metal. Dead ahead stood a tall man, his face completely pixelated beyond recognition. His breathing came through the earbuds, resonating clearly against Lillian's eardrums with an oppressive masculine weight.

In the image, the faceless man slowly raised one hand. In it was a wide, heavy leather collar—vivid red, fitted with a weighty metal ring. He stepped forward, his dress shoes striking the floor with heavy thuds, approaching the first-person viewpoint step by step.

Lillian's breathing stopped. Her gaze was forced to track the red collar as it loomed larger and closer, until it filled the bottom half of her vision. The man reached out with both hands, encircling the viewpoint's neck.

Click—

The crisp snap of the metal clasp rang through the earbuds. In that same millisecond, the stimulation pads on Lillian's collarbone, underarms, and the nape of her neck fired simultaneously—a ring-shaped pulse of warm micro-current with a tightening, constricting quality!

“EEEYAAH♥——!!”

Lillian's entire body spasmed violently, bouncing hard in the leather chair. That precisely calibrated ring of current, synchronized perfectly with the visual of the collar being fastened, flawlessly deceived her brain's neural pathways. The physical sensation of rough leather cinching tight around her throat, the metal buckle pressing against her windpipe—it descended upon her senses with terrifying realism.

Her hands flailed toward her neck, but her fingertips met only smooth, tight black magical latex. No strap. No buckle.

“Hahh… nngfh… it's just the video… it's the pads synchronizing…”

Lillian gulped air in desperate lungfuls, her chest heaving violently. Confirming she hadn't actually been collared, her rigid spine relaxed slightly, and she sagged against the chair back. But the false alarm didn't extinguish her arousal—if anything, it elevated the thrill of teetering on the edge between virtual and real to new, dizzying heights.

A deep spasm rolled through her pussy. The latex inset inside her vagina was squeezed and kneaded by the rippling walls, and scalding, clear arousal gushed from the gaps, flowing down her thighs, turning the leather seat cushion into a swamp.

The recording crystal's playback continued.

The man loomed over the camera, then his rough palm reached out and seized the first-person viewpoint's left wrist.

In sync, the electrode pad on Lillian's left inner wrist discharged a sustained, compressing current. The tactile feedback of being gripped tight by a large male hand, utterly immobilized—the realism was spine-chilling.

Then the man's other hand appeared in frame. His fingers held two items Lillian knew all too well—two black rubber bands. Space rings.

The man stretched one open and slid it onto the viewpoint's left fingertips.

Lillian held her breath. She watched as the hand in the footage was slowly swallowed by the black ring. It crept upward—past the knuckles, past the wrist, up the forearm. Wherever it passed, the limb vanished into thin air, replaced by a smooth, perfectly rounded black latex stump.

A drive called “self-annihilation”—extreme destructive urge laced with residual aphrodisiac effects—obliterated Lillian's final line of rational defence. Watching that armless black stump on screen, her clitoris—fitted with its electrode pad—exploded with an intense, buzzing itch.

“I want… I want that too…” Lillian's trembling lips formed the words between wet, needy whimpers. Her latex-wrapped hands groped blindly across the cluttered desk until they found the two cold space folding rings.

She wanted to reduce this aroused, burning body of hers to an exact replica of the helpless, limbless fuck-doll in the video.

Pale blue magical light bloomed in the dark office. Lillian's eyes were masked by the VR goggles, but her telekinetic precision as an arch mage remained flawless. Two invisible psychic tendrils extended, coiling around the two black rings.

Hummm—

Mana flowed in. The black space rings expanded in midair, their diameter widening until they could accommodate an arm passing through. Lillian raised her left hand, and the floating ring threaded precisely onto her fingertips.

In the video, the man gripped the ring and pushed it past the viewpoint's wrist.

In reality, Lillian's telekinesis applied force in perfect synchrony. The hovering space ring glided up her latex-clad left wrist.

“Nngh♥~!”

The absolute cold of the spatial boundary severed peripheral nerve sensation instantaneously. Blood flow at the cross-section was rerouted into an extradimensional loop. Lillian distinctly felt her left-hand slip beyond her control, lost somewhere in folded space.

The magical latex that had tightly encased her forearm triggered its smart-seal protocol the moment the internal support vanished. The black liquid rapidly retracted and converged, forming a perfect, glossy hemisphere at the severance point above her left elbow.

The visual synchronization and the real, physical loss of a limb intertwined, catalysing a rush of arousal potent enough to rival the most powerful aphrodisiac.

Lillian's legs splayed uncontrollably, her toes clawing the desk's edge. The electrode pad on her clitoris released a faint but deeply penetrating pulse of tingling current, igniting the overture to orgasm.

Squish… squish…

The swamped mess between her thighs squelched with each roll of her hips. Lillian gulped air as her telekinesis locked onto the second space ring.

On screen, the man released the now-smooth black stump where the left arm had been and grasped the viewpoint's right wrist. The right wrist pad immediately discharged its compressive current in sync.

Lillian drove the second, fully expanded ring onto her right fingertips with telekinesis.

In the video, the man surged forward, ramming the ring up past the viewpoint's right shoulder in one swift motion.

In reality, Lillian's telekinesis executed the same action without mercy. The black ring scraped at devastating speed up her entire right arm. Forearm, elbow, bicep—swallowed by folded space in an instant. The magical latex sealed again.

The moment both arms vanished, the abrupt shift in her centre of gravity sent her toppling backward. Her torso sank deep into the wide leather swivel chair.

Total helplessness and utter subjugation descended simultaneously.

Where her shoulders had been, all that remained were two smooth, perfectly hemispherical black latex stumps. She couldn't easily remove the VR goggles, streaming obscene imagery. She couldn't extract the earbuds channelling commands into her brain. She absolutely could not peel away the electrode pads affixed to her nipples, clitoris, and perineum.

She had, with her own hands, transformed herself into a black latex toy with zero capacity for resistance—able only to passively endure whatever stimulation came.

“Hahh♥~, I can't move… my arms are gone♥…”

Lillian thrashed wildly in the chair. The two rounded shoulder stumps scraped uselessly against the leather backrest. This extreme panic born of lost limbs, catalysed by the full awakening of a deep masochistic nature, was converted entirely into brain-melting sexual pleasure.

The VR training sequence entered its substantive phase.

On screen, the faceless man looked down at the armless female doll writhing on the floor and let out a cold laugh dripping with contempt and mockery.

“Now you don't even have the privilege of touching yourself. All you can do is wait obediently to be used.”

The recording crystal projected dim, oppressive images of the underground chamber through the VR goggles' lenses, painting them perfectly onto Lillian's retinas. The heavy breathing and the thud of dress shoes on stone floors, piped through the earbuds, pushed the immersive experience to a critically dangerous threshold.

On screen, the tall, pixelated man stood towering overhead, his aggressive gaze boring down into the first-person viewpoint.

“Now, spread your legs like a good girl. Show me just how depraved and desperate this body of yours really is.”

His voice—low, gritty, run through a distortion filter that lent it a powerful magnetic buzz—drilled straight through Lillian's ear canals into her brain. Accompanying these deeply humiliating words, that broad, calloused male hand extended slowly, reaching directly below the camera's viewpoint—toward the fully exposed crotch.

Lillian's heart hammered. Blood roared through her chest. Those long, latex-wrapped legs tensed involuntarily in the chair.

The next instant, the man's rough palm slammed down on that soaking-wet sex on screen, and two thick fingers plunged without ceremony along the seam of the labia, clawing upward!

“HEEYAAAH♥——!!!” In reality, a piercingly high, sugar-spun shriek erupted through the sealed office!

The electrode pads on Lillian's clitoris and labia—innocuous little coins—activated simultaneously under the recording crystal's precise programming. But this was no crude, monotonous, numbing buzz from a cheap sex toy. This was nerve deception of extraordinary complexity, calibrated across magical waveforms to perfectly replicate authentic physical sensation.

Faint yet surgically precise current pulses bypassed her skin's tactile receptors entirely, forcibly hijacking Lillian's lower-body nerve centre.

In that instant, her brain received intensely real, powerful physical feedback—rough fingertips grinding rapid circles against her clitoris; two thick, powerful fingers prying apart the inset magical latex, thrusting into that hot, flooded slit!

Knuckles curling, finger pads scraping and scooping hard against the sensitive anterior vaginal wall—she could even feel the faint sting and exquisite itch of fingernail edges dragging across tender flesh!

“HNNGAHHH♥!! They—they went in! There are really fingers inside me!!”

Lillian convulsed violently in the leather chair, those two smooth black shoulder stumps scraping and slipping helplessly against the backrest. Without arms, she couldn't cover her mouth, couldn't push away the “violation” that didn't physically exist. All she could do was let those parted pink lips gasp in huge gulps of air through the mask's aperture, exhaling scalding moans.

The boundary between real and virtual was annihilated by that devastatingly convincing neural current. Lillian's senses had been completely hijacked by the equipment.

Boiling arousal gushed uncontrollably from her spasming vaginal opening, instantly soaking through the inset latex layer, streaming down her thighs onto the leather cushion in squelch, squish sounds.

But in Lillian's perception, it wasn't pads discharging. It was that faceless man's fingers churning inside her, scooping out every last drop of shameful fluid, smearing it across her labia and clitoris.

“Hahh♥~! Hahh♥~! The waveform calibration on this magic… it's too—too exquisite! To perfectly reproduce this kind of physical pressure sensation and slippery friction!”

Hammered by this sudden, overwhelming wave of pleasure, Lillian's brain swam in a state of extreme euphoric vertigo. Yet deep in her bones, that scholar's curiosity and investigative drive—ignited by this novel form of play—blazed white-hot!

An unprecedented thrill—a sense of encountering uncharted territory, of eager scientific fascination—consumed her thoughts.

“This is incredible… so this is the hidden world Celia's been exploring?! Using visual cues to guide perception while neural currents provide precise somatic deception—it actually creates a convincing illusion of being physically violated! Mmfh♥… it feels so good! The fingers are digging so deep♥!”

Far from trying to resist the hallucination, Lillian yielded to bodily instinct and to the fervent curiosity burning within. She spread her thighs wider, her hips lifting from the chair, actively thrusting upward to meet those “fingers” that didn't exist.

The man on screen seemed to sense the “actress” responding. His hand quickened drastically!

Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!

The crisp, wet sounds of fingers pistoning through a dripping pussy poured through the earbuds in full surround-sound, doubling the reality of the violation once more.

Simultaneously, the perineal pads began firing high-frequency pulses simulating the taut stretch of fingers rapidly entering and withdrawing from the vaginal opening. The clitoral pad ramped up its output, mimicking a thumb rapidly flicking and pressing hard against the nub!

“Eeh! Eeh! Eeh! Too fast♥! Scooping too fast! I can't take—HNGH♥——!!”

Lillian's body snapped into a reverse arch, her toes curling white-knuckled inside the pink fluffy slippers. Her latex-hooded head whipped backward with the rhythm of the thrusting, and through the mask's aperture, uncontrollable strands of drool dripped from parted pink lips, sliding down the black latex throat.

“So this is what it feels like—to lose the power to fight back and simply surrender to pure sensation?! Hahh♥… my hands are sealed… I can't touch myself, can't stop the program! All I can do is… watch helplessly as this thing does whatever it wants with me!” Lillian's thoughts raged in chaos. This absolute helplessness didn't frighten her—it amplified the transgressive pleasure of “dropping every defence to experience the unknown” to its absolute peak.

She didn't need to think about dignity. Didn't need to agonize over moral boundaries. Because right now, she was merely a “test subject” who'd sealed away her own arms, encased in full-body latex and VR gear. This was just an incredibly realistic “game test”!

“More… I want to know how far this equipment can go! Hahh♥… what will that man do next… let me experience it! So thrilling… this is really too thrilling♥!”

Lillian's breathing had lost all rhythm. Her nipples, fitted with electrode pads, remained untouched by the on-screen action for now, but they stood rigid under the latex from her pounding heartbeat and frantic gasps, grinding against the inner material.

The recording crystal's programming, expertly reading the moment, obliged her hunger. The man ceased his finger assault, withdrawing that glistening hand from below the viewpoint. Then—SLAP—a sharp crack, and the view lurched.

The man's palm had struck hard against the first-person viewpoint's inner thigh.

CRACK! In reality, the pad on Lillian's inner thigh erupted with a brief, intense high-voltage pulse.

“AH♥!!” Genuine stinging heat merged with the shudder of flesh violently struck. Goosebumps erupted across Lillian's inner thigh. Under the aphrodisiac's influence, that pain converted into brain-piercing, tingling bliss in a fraction of a second!

“He hit me… he hit me! The pain-conversion magical feedback is this perfect, too?! Hahh♥! Another one! It hurts… but… but it feels so good♥…”

Lillian thrashed her smooth shoulder stumps, her petite body grinding against the chair in a chorus of muffled rubber squeals. Her flooded sex clenched hard each time her inner thigh was “struck,” releasing another gush of pre-squirt warmth into the inset latex—the sensation of drowning in her own fluids only dragging her deeper into this reality-blurring experience.

She'd completely abandoned her usual composure, immersing herself fully in this feast of extreme pleasure woven from magical technology and base desire, eagerly anticipating what even more shameless methods the man in the VR would use to exploit her hypersensitive body.

Meanwhile, in the exclusive luxury single dormitory reserved for the Academy's First Seat, the air was thick with the pungent scent of female arousal.

In this spacious, lavish bedroom, the air hung hot and humid. On the wide velvet bed, Celia von Novarian lay sprawled in an utterly shameless posture. Her flawless, porcelain body was beaded with fine sweat, her rosy skin blotched with crimson from intense excitement.

Floating in midair, a mana-construct water mirror radiated pale blue light. The image on its surface showed, in crystal clarity, the scene inside the instructor's office: a small figure stripped of both arms, body encased in black magical latex, VR goggles strapped on, writhing and moaning deliriously.

Squelch! Squelch! Zzzt!

Celia's right hand was buried deep in her own flooded pussy. Two long fingers drove furiously into the hot, clenching vaginal walls, churning the copious clear fluids mixed with cervical secretions into white froth. It streamed down her thighs, soaking a massive dark patch into the velvet sheets beneath her.

“Hahh♥~, hahh♥~! Lillian-chan is just too wonderful… this depraved display… is simply too wonderful♥!” Celia kept her eyes locked on the water mirror, watching her instructor's reason dissolve under virtual electrical torment, her fingers never slowing.

Her breathing was frantic to the extreme, her full breasts swaying violently with each heave, pink nipples rigid and trembling in the air.

Every frame from the mirror, every moan, was transmuted into the most potent aphrodisiac, injected directly into Celia's brain.

Watching that normally composed, respected academic authority—the one who stood so high above—willingly seal her own arms, don slave-conditioning equipment, and rub her thighs together in heat on her own office chair. The violent identity displacement and the extreme depravity of it compounded Celia's pleasure, stacking it higher and higher.

“Almost there… the crucial part… mmnh♥! I'm… I'm about to lose it too…” Celia's eyes rolled back, her ice-blue irises completely unfocused.

Her left hand pinched her clitoris in a death grip while her right drove into her pussy at a terrifying tempo—she could feel her walls spasming violently, clamping down on those two invading fingers.

She was waiting—waiting for the exquisitely woven trap to close around Lillian, to witness the moment the net drew shut. For now, she would ride the wave alongside her on-screen instructor, toward an appetizer orgasm.

And back in the office, Lillian's reason had been fully consumed by the recording crystal's brutally realistic virtual reality. The electrode pads on her clitoris, perineum, nipples, and inner thighs pumped out meticulously calibrated neural-deception currents without pause.

“Hahh♥~, hahh♥~, more… I need more♥…” Lillian gasped violently in the leather chair, her two armless latex stumps scraping and sliding frantically against the backrest. Her petite, latex-encased body exuded massive quantities of sweat, turning the suit's interior even more slippery and tight.

The VR feed progressed to a new stage. The pixelated man ceased his slapping and finger-work. He straightened, turned, and walked to an equipment cabinet lined with metal instruments and rubber toys.

Accompanied by the heavy thud of his shoes, he retrieved an enormously thick black dildo—its surface covered in grotesque raised veins and even fitted with a spiral ribbing structure.

BZZZZZZZZ——! He flipped the switch at its base. That deep, savage motor roar, piped through Lillian's earbuds, was amplified to a deafening crescendo resonating through her skull.

On screen, the monstrous black object drew closer and closer. The man roughly pried open the viewpoint's sensitive labia and aimed the vibrating weapon dead centre at that ruined, gaping little hole, its pink walls twitching and leaking arousal.

“Now, open that greedy little mouth of yours as wide as it'll go. Swallow every last inch.” His voice was absolute domination.

Lillian, watching that colossal black shaft fill nearly her entire field of vision, felt her heart seize.

“It's… it's going in! Something that thick… is about to push inside my body!” The terror of losing her virginity collided with anticipation that transcended all reason.

The inset black latex between her thighs wept a deluge of arousal from sheer excitement, dripping from the seams onto the chair below. Lillian's breathing stopped entirely. Every muscle locked to the limit, bracing for the soul-splitting penetration.

“Ohhhh♥! It's going in♥——!” Lillian cried out in a high, keening moan.

On screen, the man's hips surged forward. The thick black vibrating dildo drove into the first-person viewpoint's pussy with unstoppable force!

SLAP!

In reality, the electrode pads on Lillian's perineum and clitoris fired a powerful pulse, mimicking the resistance of labia being forced apart by a foreign object.

“HNGAHH♥——!” Lillian squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the savage vibration filling her entire vaginal canal, the splitting sensation reaching her deepest depths.

One second passed.

Two seconds passed.

“…Huh?” Lillian's tightly shut eyes snapped open behind the latex mask. That soaring moan choked off in her throat, replaced by a soft sound of pure bewilderment.

On screen, the massive black dildo had fully disappeared inside the first-person viewpoint's body. The man gripped the base and had begun pumping with wide, brutal strokes. The fleshy slap slap and viscous squelch sounds blared through the earbuds without cease.

And yet…

In reality, all Lillian felt—beyond the current on her outer labia simulating being “repeatedly stretched open”—was nothing at all inside her.

No thick, scorching shaft. No fullness packing every fold of her vaginal walls. No savage vibration ramming her cervix. No blissful pressure of an object grinding through her passage.

The overpowering visual impact, the deafening auditory feedback, and the absolute emptiness of her internal sensations formed a vast, absurd, maddening chasm.

“What… what's happening…” Lillian sat dazed, mouth hanging half-open, drool dripping from the breathing aperture.

Her body still held that shameful spread-legged position, but the ecstatic anticipation that had peaked moments ago felt like being kicked from a ten-thousand-meter cliff, shattering on impact.

Despite every nerve ending screaming to be roughly filled, that crucial “filling” was missing.

The devastating gap left Lillian more agitated and empty than she'd ever felt in her life.

“There's… nothing. Nothing inside. It's completely empty.” She writhed her hips frantically in the chair, trying to make the inset latex rub against her vaginal walls, anything to compensate for the void. But that thin membrane of latex couldn't provide anything resembling real satisfaction.

The on-screen thrusting grew more and more violent. The man even began grinding the massive toy against her cervix. The holographic visuals were hyperrealistic—but in reality, Lillian's womb could only throb in agonized protest, desperately wanting what the screen promised.

“Hahh~, why… why is there nothing inside…” Lillian gasped for air, and that brilliant academic brain finally, painfully, began to function through the fog of desperate need.

She clenched her jaw and focused. Pale blue magical light flickered in the air. An invisible psychic tendril reached for her own latex-wrapped head.

Click. Telekinesis forcibly unclasped the VR goggles and lifted them from Lillian's face.

The instant visual input ceased, the bright office lights stabbed her eyes. Lillian gulped fresh air in huge, desperate breaths. Her latex-masked face was unreadable, but the frantic panting through the breathing aperture spoke volumes about her state.

She looked down at her slightly parted slit, the electrode pads still firmly adhered to her clitoris and perineum.

“The pads… they're on the surface…” The realization struck.

“No matter how precisely calibrated the neural current deception is… these electrode pads can only act on the nerve endings in the surface layers of skin! They simply cannot penetrate to the mucosal lining deep inside the vaginal canal or rectum!”

“Without internal physical contact points… no matter how real the visuals and audio are… they can't replicate the internal feedback of a massive object stretching and filling the passage!”

The magical instruments expert's extensive knowledge did nothing to relieve her physical torment. If anything, understanding exactly why it failed—“seeing it, hearing it, even feeling it on the surface, but absolutely hollow inside”—amplified the torture of “frustrated desire” tenfold.

“No… I need to keep watching…” Driven nearly mad by the emptiness, Lillian used telekinesis to strap the VR goggles back on.

On screen, the man was hammering from every brutal angle, churning the vibrating monster inside the pussy. Lillian watched, her insides clenching desperately, craving impacts that didn't exist.

“Hahh♥~! HNGAAAH! Master's shoving it in♥!” The woman on screen sprayed fluid as her cunt swallowed and expelled the long, thick vibrator, her wanton cries flooding through the earbuds.

But Lillian could only lie there helplessly, imagining. No matter how wild the action on screen, her insides remained achingly, desperately lonely.

She tore off the goggles in frustration with telekinesis, gasping—then couldn't resist putting them back on. Another wave of agonized craving, then off again.

Five or six repetitions later, Lillian broke completely.

“Haahh~~~.” A sigh laden with despair, frustration, and boundless hunger escaped her lips.

Lillian surrendered. She flung the VR goggles onto the desk with telekinesis and collapsed into the chair like a puddle of slime. The two smooth black shoulder stumps hung limp, her legs still splayed, arousal flowing freely and endlessly.

She was stranded on the cliff's edge of orgasm. Couldn't climb up. Couldn't come down. Every cell was ablaze, but the “extinguisher” that could quench the fire simply did not exist.

“This is awful… this feeling is truly awful…” Beneath Lillian's latex mask, her cheeks flushed a physiological crimson. In her extreme emptiness, she found herself nostalgically remembering the moment in the laboratory when she'd personally driven those two massive probes into Number One's body.

“If… if I had two things like that inside me right now… combined with this electrical stimulation and visual feed… I'd probably cum so hard I'd die…” The seed of corruption had fully germinated. She was already unconsciously fantasizing about brutal penetration, her only regret being that there was nothing to fill her.

And on the other side, in the exclusive luxury dormitory, Celia—who had witnessed through the water mirror every last detail of Lillian's frustrated need, her agonized on-and-off goggle routine, her final despairing sigh—let loose a devastatingly lewd, deranged orgasmic cry.

“I'm CUMMINGGGG! HAHHHH♥!!!”

“That's it! That's the expression! Lillian-chan! That look of seeing what you want but can't have, your body dangling in midair with nowhere to land—it's truly the most exquisite sight!” Celia's fingers were still buried in her pussy, thrusting relentlessly, hammering her sensitive spot.

Her calculations were flawless. If she'd sent the full set of internal insertion toys from the start, Lillian's conservative personality would have most likely recoiled in fear and shame at the sight of something that large. She might never have dared try at all.

But this approach—surface pads combined with cutting-edge VR visual guidance—first used the imagery and surface stimulation to fully awaken the slumbering desire inside her, to max out her anticipation! Then, at the critical moment of “insertion,” delivered total, utter emptiness!

That colossal psychological and physiological gap would instantly obliterate every last shred of Lillian's restraint. She would no longer fear the size of toys. Instead, this extreme hunger would drive her to desperately crave anything that could fill her cunt.

This entire night of “teasing” and “edging” was designed to extract the very last drop of Lillian's professorial rationality.

“Hehe, Lillian-chan, let that needy little slutty hole of yours starve for now. Spend this sleepless night writhing with your empty, aching, horny body♥~!” Celia's eyes blazed with twisted possessiveness and sadistic glee.

“Tomorrow… tomorrow morning… my thoughtful little gift will arrive at your office.”

“By then… you, blinded by lust, will spread those legs without a moment's hesitation and ram those things deep inside yourself♥~!”

“EEEEE♥——!! CUMMING! Cumming again♥!!!” With that final triumphant declaration, Celia's fingers curled upward in one vicious thrust.

Squelch—SPLAAAASH!!

The accumulated pleasure detonated in a cataclysmic release. Celia's body convulsed on the velvet bed, her back arching into a reverse bow. A torrent of scalding, viscous fluid erupted from her pussy, tracing a long arc through the air before spattering across the expensive silk bedding.

“Hahh~, hahh~, Lillian-chan… see you tomorrow♥…” Celia twitched and trembled amid the swamp of her own fluids, wearing that wicked smile, and sank into post-orgasmic unconsciousness and sleep.

And in Lillian's office, time seemed to congeal. Every passing second carried the weight of maddening torment.

“Hahh~, nngfh~, nothing… still nothing…” Lillian lay limp in the leather chair, her latex-hooded head lolling against the backrest.

Without the critical internal physical filling, the recording crystal's subsequent violent penetration scenes not only failed to deliver real pleasure—they functioned as phantom flames, forever luring the wick of her “frustrated desire” close to ignition before pulling away.

After several more futile cycles of removing and replacing the VR goggles in impotent rage, Lillian finally submitted to reality. Using telekinesis, she manipulated the recording crystal's progress bar, rewinding to the very beginning—the “foreplay” section of surface touches, slaps, and clitoral fingering only.

“This is all I can watch… mm…” And so the video looped, again and again.

The pads on her perineum, nipples, and clitoris discharged their surface-simulating currents with each cycle. Lillian's armless, petite body trembled and spasmed in the chair like a fish out of water, oozing clear fluid with every wave of surface stimulation.

This self-medication—drinking poison to quench thirst—barely relieved the surface hunger while deepening the internal void with each pass. She didn't know how long she'd been writhing in that chair, didn't know how many times she'd climaxed.

Until the sky lightened with the first pale glow of dawn. The double exhaustion of mind and body finally overpowered the arousal-fuelled excitement. Lillian didn't even manage to remove the VR goggles with telekinesis before she passed out—still spread-legged, still armless, still a latex stump—slumped in the fluid-drenched leather swivel chair, sinking into deep, heavy oblivion.

Squish~, update meow, there's more coming meow~!

Chapter 8