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“Roji! Come in here!”



Roji sighed. He’d heard Thiri’s hoofbeats returning, followed a few moments later by the master climbing the stairs, and a clatter as equipment hit the floor. The sudden noise had disturbed Pfarth, the sholo, who had been flopped across the back of the couch. He looked up interestedly, and scampered into the lab.



Roji had known even before the call that it would once more fall to him to clean it up. He just hoped the niffle boxes hadn’t been upset again. The master didn’t seem to realize how difficult it was to get all the various genders separated, into their individual compartments. It wasn’t so much that the niffles fought and wiggled, it was that so many of the genders looked so much alike, and they all had to be separated, because any one of them out of place could cause another population explosion.



The last time that happened, when Roji was still new, and hadn’t learned how to tell the niffles apart yet, they’d still had a poiji colony to feed them to. But the poiji had all caught something nasty last winter and died. That was unfortunate, because that meant the hubbers had had to go on short rations for a while, until the next litter of deenx were born. But that was all Tiska’s problem, not his.



Sighing, Roji heaved his gangly frame to his feet. His towering head was topped by short, unruly, sand-colored hair, with wide-set hazel eyes just beneath. He hadn’t grown any more vertically in several years, and was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to fill out.



The cat that had been sleeping next to him on the couch stretched and yawned, annoyed, as he laid the book down on the cushion he had just vacated. It was the latest silly thing the master wanted him to study up on. He would expect a report in a day or two, quizzing him offhandedly, and sending him back to read other books if he couldn’t answer promptly and confidently. This time it was on the mating habits of ogres, and potential interbreeding with other related races. And he would expect Roji not just to know about their possible biological fertility, but also whether or not they would recognize each other as potential mates, and whether their courtship rituals are similar enough that they would be able to proceed to anything else.



He shuffled to the doorway into the main lab room, dreading what he would find. As he scanned the room, he was pleasantly surprised. All of the niffles were still safe and sound in their boxes.



The rest of the room was in its usual state of disarray, so it took him a moment to recognize what was out of place. The irregularly angled walls were lined with shelves filled with books, reagents, equipment, and various types of plants and animals. Some were living, some dead, and some in between. Some were stuffed and mounted, some hanging, and some merely hanging around. A tightly wound scroll had been stuck into a pot and tied to a sickly-looking kingsfoil plant, in order to hold it up. There were trinkets, some enchanted, some not, being used as placeholders between pages of books, and others being used as placeholders between books on the various shelves. Piles of books elsewhere mingled with, and occasionally became, fodder for various animals.



Pfarth was still bouncing around and chittering excitedly. The seppim, which had been circling irritably around the room, returned to its perch, tucked its head back under its wing, and tried to go back to sleep. The table in the center of the room was large, taking up an enormous amount of space, and tall, above even Roji’s waist, a comfortable height to work at while standing. It was chronically cluttered, though there was now a relatively clear patch, which the old man was standing in front of, with his new book open. Immediately next to the bare spot was a taller mound that looked ready to crash back onto the book. It probably would in the near future, with Pfarth’s help. Beyond the mound, on the floor, were the fresh casualties: a couple books and a pile of scrolls, none the worse for the fall, a slightly disheveled rebik which crawled slowly away, and a dirty alembic, which hadn’t broken into too many pieces.



“Yes, master?” Roji asked, descending the few steps into the lab and already moving to start replacing the dropped items.



“Get to work,” the wizard grunted, pointing under the table, without taking his eyes away from his new book, now open in front of him.



Roji saw what the old man meant. He walked right past the pile of papers and broken glass on the floor and crawled under the table. There was a pillow on the floor under the table, which he placed in front of his master. The front of his robe was bulging, and by the time Roji got himself positioned and opened it, there was already a drop of fluid seeping out of the tip.



Or was that just leftovers? As the robe parted, Roji got a whiff of Tiska’s tang as well. That book must be something really special, Roji thought. The master had had it off with Tiska on the way up to the lab, and needed servicing again already? If the book was doing that to him, he’d probably just bent Tiska over a stall door down in the stable, and laid the book out on her back, to read while he pounded her.



The thought got Roji hard as well, but he would deal with that later. Right now, he had to take care of the master.



He set to work, licking the dribbles from the tip of the old man’s wand, and then running his tongue all the way up and down the shaft, caressing it all over, including the ring around the tip of the foreskin, which he knew the master liked especially. The taste of Tiska’s warm, wet pocket lingered, and Roji couldn’t help reaching into his own robe to stroke himself as well.



Above him, Roji could hear the wizard muttering and turning pages occasionally, paying him no attention. A little at a time, Roji began sliding his master’s tool into his mouth, flattening his tongue against the underside, and flicking at the notch on the underside of the head.



The old man’s stature had shrunk and stooped slightly as he had aged, but his wand did not seem to have waned similarly. Roji had only been an apprentice for a few years, so he couldn’t speak from personal experience, but it was still large, solid, and powerful, and he had trouble taking all of it in as it was. Roji could only imagine what it might have been like when the old man was in his prime.



Roji wasn’t entirely sure of Sezithorum’s age, but he was an old man by any standard. How old he appeared to be varied, depending on the lighting and his mood at the time, ranging from a little over half a century to a little short of dead. His hair and beard were both long and grey. His body hair was also gray, but still thick.



Between Roji’s own saliva and Tiska’s leftovers, the wizard’s rod was very slick, and Roji wrapped his other hand around the base of the shaft, pressing his lips up against his fingers, and sliding his fist back and forth in concert with the stroking of his head. The murmurs from above were getting louder and more frequent, although no more intelligible. Roji strained to hear, to pick out anything that would give him a clue as to what it was that had his master so wound up, but the words that he was able to hear made no sense to him.



As Roji worked, he thought about how such an old man could remain so virile. Wizards were famous for their virility, so it must have something to do with the amount of charm that they channeled on such a regular basis. Even so, this book must be spectacular, as Roji had never seen him so thoroughly incensed that he needed to be relieved twice in such quick succession. Well, there had been that one one ritual they’d had to do, but that was when he was actively working. All he was doing now was reading the tome!



Pfarth had calmed down, and was poking at the shards of broken glassware on the floor. He picked up one of the fragments and sniffed at it curiously. Roji grabbed a scroll that had rolled under the table and brandished it at the sholo, who scampered off again.



Even as potent as the wizard was, so soon after having it off with Tiska, it took a long time for him to climax. Roji’s tongue was sore, and his neck ached, but he had to do as his master ordered. Finally, as the old man’s orgasm approached, he seemed to notice what Roji was doing, and his hips began shifting back and forth, pumping into Roji’s mouth.



Another crash sounded atop the table, followed by more equipment hitting the floor next to the table, and Pfarth squealing as he hit the floor halfway down the hall leading to the living quarters. Roji glanced at the new puddle of miscellany and rolled his eyes. Nothing major, and nothing else broken. Pfarth’s calls were angry, rather than pained, so Roji didn’t worry about him either.



Roji stroked harder, faster, sucking his cheeks in to press against the sides of the throbbing rod. Each time his hand bottomed out, into the gray mass of pubic hair, another wave of Tiska’s scent was released. His other hand continued stroking himself, in time with his ministrations to his master.



With one last shove, and a shout of “Aha!” the wizard’s seed flowed into Roji’s mouth, spurt after spurt. The warmth washed over his tongue and suffused his mouth, radiating throughout his head and sliding down his throat. He milked every last drop that he could, the glow spreading out and permeating his entire body. Drinking the master’s juices was a regular occurrence, but every bit helped, and Roji was still early enough in his studies that he needed all the help he could get to expand his capacity for charm.



In fact, with this fresh influx, he could probably repair the alembic pretty easily. Without acknowledgement from above, Roji crawled out from under the table and began stacking the books on one of the less-overstuffed bookshelves. The scrolls he added to a pile between two of the bookcases, and found more or less appropriate places for the other paraphernalia. He put the alembic’s stand back on the table, and grabbed a broom to sweep the pieces of the broken glassware together into a pile.



Putting the broom aside, he retrieved the pillow from under the table and placed it next to the pile of broken glass. He knelt and began chanting over it, quietly, so as not to disturb the master. One at a time, encouraged by the motions of his hands, the fragments of glass lifted and fit themselves together, gradually rebuilding the alembic, the broken edges knitting back together without even a seam.



Except for one hole, which didn’t close. The edges flowed and ran, the hole becoming circular, about the diameter of his thumb. Without breaking the chant, Roji looked around, trying to find the missing piece. Not seeing it, and worried that it had gotten trapped in one of the books, he stood up. Liberated, the final piece nearly leapt out from under the pillow he had been kneeling on. He smiled, still chanting, as the shard settled into place, its jagged edges blending into the hole and disappearing, the alembic returned to perfect, if dusty, condition.



Roji could have reassembled it, with some effort, with his own charm. But even if it hadn’t been covered up, that final piece wouldn’t have jumped like that if he hadn’t just been infused with another dose of his master’s power.



The more powerful the wizard, the more magical energy coursed through his body, and infused all of his fluids. Even after being expelled, anything that had once been a part of a wizard’s body still carried significant amounts of charm, which could be transferred to anyone else that the fluid was transferred to. Which was why a wizard was only allowed to give it to his apprentices on anything approaching a regular basis. The power could be dangerous to someone who didn’t know how to control it.



He was getting better about it, but Tiska was much farther along in her studies than he was. She’d already been an apprentice for several years before he came to live with Sezithorum.



As Roji replaced the alembic on its stand, he realized that the thought of Tiska had made his erection throb again. It had faded while he was distracted with the cleanup, but now his robe was visibly hanging away from his body.



“Master? Do you need me for anything else?” No response. “Master?”



“Hmm? No, not now,” he muttered, without looking away from the book. “Do not go far, however, I will need to shed more charm before long.”



“Yes, sir.” Roji bowed slightly, then turned and hurried down the stairs toward the stables.



The house was situated at the end of a long spur leading off of the main road, which was visible in the distance. It appeared to have been constructed in a series of waves by a succession of builders following an amalgamation of plans drawn by a variety of architects influenced by a plethora of psychedelics. The building materials included mortared stone, dry-set stone, brick, raw wood timbers, sawn planks, cob, bamboo, thatch, and, inexplicably, vinyl siding. While any given floor was more or less level, it did not necessarily match up with any other floor in any adjacent room.



The rooms themselves were jumbled together with no apparent regard for access, economy, insulation, or structural integrity, and the external walls did not necessarily match up with any particular internal wall. Protuberances jutted out from any and all surfaces, seemingly at random, and gave the overall impression of impending collapse. If it had not been the domicile of a wizard, it probably long since would have.



The stable was, in fact, possibly the most boring and mundane of the rooms, by virtue of having been among the first to be built, before architectural trends became profoundly silly. Or at least, it would have been boring and mundane, had it not been for the cacophony of sights, sounds, and smells contained within it.



Among the animals that were supposed to be there were such common barnyard stock as vero for wool and deenx for meat, and a growing flock of hubbers for eggs, all of which were fenced in together, their paddock including a part of the stable to get out of the weather. Ranging amongst them was a Great Penis Mountain dog, large, white and shaggy, to prevent them from wandering too far and to protect them from predators. What had been the poiji cage had been refilled after their untimely demise with hardier maleroks.



Then there were the other animals that were not necessarily supposed to be there. The hubbers and cats tended to keep the rat population down pretty well. They didn’t intentionally raise klinds, but they fed on the buzzbugs and other insects that were perpetually present in a stable, so they were tolerated as well, as long as they stayed out of the way and didn’t get too aggressive.



Roji descended the stairs to find Tiska just bringing Thiri back into the stable. Even after being walked around to cool down, the horse was still coated in sweat. “Hey, Ti– oh. You still have to brush her down, don’t you?”



Tiska was a short, robust woman, beyond the flush of adolescence, but still young. She had a spray of dark hair topping her round face that she kept short, because she felt long hair was too much trouble, especially working in the stables. Roji had never seen her with long hair, and as much as he was accustomed to seeing her boyish cut, it just didn’t seem to suit her. Or maybe he was just expecting long hair because she was female. Whatever.



Roji could see her rubber work boots beneath the leather apron she wore, but the flashes of bare skin between their tops and the hem of the apron, and her bare shoulders implied that she wore nothing else. There was a pile of clothes next to the door of an empty stall where they had been tossed when the master had returned and demanded access to her.



Her lively brown eyes flicked down at his bulging robe, and the corners of her tiny mouth drew up. “I can put a cooler on her for a bit, and come back to her. I could really use to be rubbed down too, neh?” she purred, sashaying up to him and dropping her arms over his shoulders. She came originally from somewhere far to the south, and her voice, deep for a woman, but not remarkably so, had a musical lilt to it.



He put his arms around her, and found his suspicions confirmed. He cupped her bottom in his hands as she ground herself against him. “The old fogey was in such a flaming hurry, I was just getting warmed up when he blew his load and tottered off upstairs.”



“I figured that. He was hard again — or maybe still — by the time he got up there, so I had to suck him off too. I could taste you on him, and it got me all fired up, so I just had to come looking for you as soon as I finished with him. But I don’t want to take you away from anything important,” he said, nodding toward the horse who had moved away and was sniffing at something on the ground.



She reached down and grabbed playfully at his bulging crotch. “I’d say this is pretty important, neh? Just let me get Thiri settled.” Tiska gave him one more squeeze as she turned away.



Roji watched her rounded buttocks clench and shift as she called Thiri back into the stall. She intentionally dropped the cooler blanket, just so that she could bend over, legs spread slightly, and stick her glistening lips out at him. He idly stroked himself as he watched her, muscles flexing as she moved, straightening the cloth over Thiri’s back.



When she was finished, she closed the stall door and removed the apron. She draped it over the door of the empty stall, then bent over to pick up her blouse and pants, shook them out, and hung them as well. Roji had seen her breasts many times before, but they were still magnificent. Not very large, but round and firm, and they suited her small, solid body perfectly. She saw him looking, and grinned broadly, turning and walking into the empty stall. He followed her eagerly.



There was already a blanket on a pile of hay, and by the time he got there, Tiska was on her back, looking up at him. He doffed his robe and laid it next to her clothes. She looked at his tool, which was already dripping. “From the looks of it, you’re not going to last much longer than he did.”



“At this point, I might not. Which means we better make sure you get enough attention first.” He knelt in front of her and spread her knees. She had a small rug of closely-cropped hair, pointing downward toward an expansive set of drapes.



“My thoughts exactly,” she sighed, leaning her head back as his lips touched hers.



Roji loved her taste, sweet with just a hint of citrus. His earlier ministrations to the wizard had whet his appetite, tasting her remains, and now he was able to drink directly from the chalice. Beneath it, he could also taste the salty tang of the master’s leftover seed, still lingering in her depths.



His tongue ranged all over her folds, licking, stroking, teasing. He used his thumbs to hold the outer lips apart, allowing unrestrained access to her large inner pleats. He sucked gently at the edges, occasionally brushing over the pearl of her clitoris, but refusing to pay it particular attention. Finally he flattened his tongue over her hole, the pressure spreading her labia, and slid it upward, rubbing the entire length of it solidly over the sensitive nub.



She tensed and jerked, and he continued concentrating his attention on the knob, quickly bringing her to climax. While she grunted and shook, Roji sat up on his knees, lined his staff up with her entrance, and plunged halfway in. She continued convulsing, alternating waves of heat and cold and lightning and raw charm breaking through her and radiating out in all directions. He thrust, harder, faster and deeper, gripping her hips solidly and slamming himself in to the base on every stroke.



Between her warm, velvety tunnel spasming around him, and the charm pouring out of her, his charm bubbled to the surface in short order as well, and he exploded inside her. He collapsed on top of her, both of them panting heavily.

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