GPCiMW Chapter 15 (Patreon)

Hi. Its been a bit since I've updated this story. After the last chapter, I realized that my plans for this story just weren't holding water and so I've spent the last like, month and a half, rewriting all my plot outlines!

I think this might actually be my favorite chapter so far, it was a ton of fun to write and I always enjoy working on interludes. They're an interesting sort of challenge and a good way to switch things up if you know what I mean?

If you are unaware, I've recently (last week) started working on a Quest over on Questionable Questing, which is sort of like an interactive story where reader votes influence the direction the plot takes. Its called 'Harvesting the Multiverse' and follows the adventures of a MTG style Planeswalker. We're only 8 chapters deep so far, but I think it has a lot of potential and its been a lot of fun to work on. If that sounds at all interesting to you, you should go check it out!

Anyway, on to the chapter! Enjoy!

Daphne had never felt so horny in either of her lives. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, the growing ache in her feet and calves blending seamlessly with the burning heat between her legs until she could no longer tell where the pain ended and the pleasure began.

Her feet pounded relentlessly against the ground, each step sending renewed waves of fire up her legs and throughout her entire body. The jingle of the small bells clipped to her breasts had long ago blended into a single frantic note that set her teeth on edge as they bounced erratically and constantly tugged painfully at her far too sensitive nipples.

Daphne did her best to focus on her breathing. She wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Severin had ordered her to follow the training plan he’d given her to the letter, and as much freedom as he allowed her, ultimately she could not disobey a direct order from her lord and master.

Daphne squinted, trying to make out the numbers slowly ticking down on the clock before her. Her eyes stung as sweat poured down her forehead in rivulets, but she thought she could make out a nine as the first number. Nine more minutes. She could do nine more minutes and then she could finally rest.

Daphne squeezed her eyes shut and began to count down the seconds. She did her best to focus on her running form, on her breathing, and on the rhythmic impacts of her boots against the track beneath her feet.

Not on the blazing need in her cunt.

Not on the delicious, agonizing friction as the plugs in her pussy and ass shifted with every step and the leather strap between her legs rubbed against her swollen clit.

Not on the razor sharp jolts of pleasure and pain as cold metal slapped against her bare tits and cruel, jagged teeth bit and tugged on the sensitive nubs of her nipples.

She wanted to cum, she needed it so badly it physically hurt, but she couldn’t. Severin's words had been crystal clear on that front. No cumming without his express permission. Even as the horrible need began to cloud her every waking moment, even as every tiny touch and breeze on her blazing skin threatened to push her over the edge, even as she teetered on the very edge between ecstasy and agony, she simply could not orgasm.

Even knowing it was coming months in advance, nothing could have prepared her for the horrible, desperate agony of an entire week of constant stimulation without even the tiniest hope for relief. Grace at least had hope that maybe Severin may have mercy on them any day now, but Daphne knew better. She’d read the same guide that Severin had and Seen this very training on a dozen different witches and from countless angles.

And, worst of all, Daphne knew this was only the start. ‘Through all my years of experience,’ that accursed man wrote, ‘I have found that a finely tuned mix of pleasure, pain, and desperation is essential for the proper training of young witches. Thus, before I begin the training for any new ponywitch in earnest, I like to ensure that they remain focused and free of unnecessary distractions throughout.

‘For a coven-bound witch, this can be accomplished with a simple order to refrain from achieving climax—see specific phrasings for proper orders in appendix D—while for unbound witches a number of spells may be substituted as needed. I typically inform my trainees that they may be permitted release if they over perform during their training. This is of course a lie, but I’ve found that it aids in motivating the witches regardless.

‘It is truly astonishing what the mere suggestion that they may earn an orgasm does for a witch’s motivation after a week or more of training. Unfortunately attempts to extend such training times past approximately the three month point have proven infeasible. Instead I suggest a single ‘reward’ every four to seven weeks and prior to any races or time evaluations. See chapter 19 for more details.’

Daphne could barely imagine how desperate she would feel after three more weeks like this. Even knowing it was utterly pointless she’d still spent several hours this morning furiously masturbating in the futile hope it would relieve the aching fire in her core. It hadn’t, but she simply hadn’t been able to resist.

‘Free of distractions my ass!’ she swore mentally. She felt pretty fucking distracted right now. She felt it said a lot about the twisted culture these wizards had concocted over the centuries that even their athletics had been turned into this mockery of a sport. Normal runners certainly didn’t have uniforms that actively impeded their running ability. She would know, she’d spent four years doing track in high school and had certainly never run a race in heels, gagged, and with her breasts just free to bounce around like balloons in a hurricane.

It had been funny when all this was just a light-hearted kinky show. The Great Race had been her favorite episode of season one and she’d always loved joking about the amazing jiggle physics the animators had included. It certainly didn’t feel particularly funny now.

Worst. Isekai. Experience. Ever.

There were very few worlds she wouldn’t have chosen over this fucking hellscape. Not unless she got to choose her exact circumstances at least. Give her a post-apocalyptic wasteland or monster-infested deathworld any day of the week. At least then she might have had a chance to do something with her life. Sure she’d been born with a pretty sick cheat power––the strongest seer born in eleven centuries apparently––but what did that matter when she was nothing more than another slave with no hope of freedom or personal agency?

From the moment she’d realized where exactly she had been reborn, any hope she’d had left of running away or somehow escaping to freedom were instantly dashed. There was no freedom to be found. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. Wizards were the undisputed rulers of this world and witches were born to serve, obey, and eventually pump out more fucking sex slaves and little baby monsters. There was no place in this universe where a witch could live free unless they just happened to absorb their brother in the womb.

At least if she’d been reborn as a medieval peasant or some kind of child soldier she could just die. Sometimes, particularly during the more tortuous portions of her ‘training’, death would have been a welcome release. Death was easy. Death didn’t hurt. She didn’t know what most people experienced when they died, but all she could remember was a brief flash of pain followed by a timeless eternity spent drifting peacefully through an endless void.

Unfortunately, witches were far too valuable to be allowed to simply kill themselves. The protective wards over the nurseries and training halls had foiled all her attempts. If you didn’t eat, they force fed you. If you didn’t drink, they waterboarded you till you had your fill. The punishment after she’d ‘accidently’ tried to bash her head open on a wall had left her nearly catatonic, but even that was not allowed to last.

She pushed those thoughts aside before she could descend back into the doom spiral that had dominated her first few years in this world. The past was the past and she could do nothing to change it. Only the future mattered. Well, that and making sure she didn’t end up like the Daphne she remembered from the show.

She liked to think that she’d done a pretty good job of it so far. No one had discovered her Seer gift, she’d ended up bonded to the only wizard she knew of that maybe wouldn’t treat her like a disposable sex doll, and she’d already put Severin in a position of strength compared to his peers.

He wasn’t going to end up like he had in the show. Severin was smart. Severin was talented. Severin had her to help him avoid the pitfalls he’d fallen into in the show. That scene from season three flashed before her eyes and she smashed it away with a vengeance. Everything was going to be fine. She had to believe that everything was going to be fine.

A sob rose up in her throat and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Her jaw hurt worse than when she’d gotten her wisdom teeth taken out, she could barely feel her arms, and she would kill an entire kindergarten class for a bowl of her mom’s naengmyeon right now. She hated that she couldn’t clearly remember what it tasted like anymore, nor the feeling of the chewy noodles between her teeth. At least the rubber gag still somehow tasted better than the fucking slop.

She once again tried to focus on the drum-like beat of her feet against the ground, but that was only a momentary distraction. As they too often did, her thoughts shifted to poor Nerabella, the witch that Severin had originally been paired with in the show. Though they’d been placed in different training groups, Daphne had seen Nerabella a few times over the years and occasionally looked in on her with her Sight.

Her fate sometimes haunted Daphne’s nightmares. Sure she’d ended up dead in the show, but at least she’d had two full years of relative happiness before she died. Now that she’d taken Nerabella’s place, Daphne often wondered what was going to happen to the poor girl, but so far she’d seen nothing conclusive.

As far as she knew, Nerabella hadn’t been placed with one of the other new students so she was probably still locked up in one of the same tiny cages that she and Daphne had both grown up in. If she didn’t get chosen by a wizard in the next few years, she was either going to end up in the breeding pits or be ‘liquidated’. Daphne wasn’t sure which of the three options was worse. With any luck, she would still be there and Daphne would manage to convince Severin to pick her the next time he got to add a new witch to his coven. It was both the most and the least she could do for her.

Unfortunately, even those grim thoughts could only distract her for so long. She squinted at the clock again. Seven more minutes. She could do this. She could do this. She’d cheated fate and tricked the fucking rating system into pairing her with the exact wizard she wanted. This accursed training regime wasn’t going to beat her!

Not for the first time she cursed herself for directing Severin to that blasted book. Knowing it was ultimately for the best didn’t help her right now, now did it. She’d seen how effective the methods within it were, the results even a brain dead lucksack like Wyll could manage with its help, but that did nothing to alleviate the incessant, all-consuming need that haunted her every waking hour.

For a moment she wished that Severin was just a tiny bit less focused than he was. It was that focus and drive—plus him being neither a raging lunatic nor sick freak—that had ultimately driven her to him, but it also meant he wouldn’t even dream of breaking away from the training regiment he’d selected for her and Grace. A wizard like Kazuma or Wyll could be swayed by a pretty witch bouncing on their cock. Severin wouldn’t budge without a very good reason she simply couldn’t give to him.

A hazy image flickered before her eyes, barely more than a trick of the light, and she desperately jumped on it, eager for any possible direction. Her Gift flared, a painful tugging in her belly fully disjointed from the agony in her legs, the dull ache in her shoulders, and the pounding of her heart. She pushed through it, forcing the vision into razor-sharp focus.

To her surprise, it came easily. Typically honing in on such a faint fragment felt like pulling teeth or perhaps more like that horrible punishment after one of the other witches in her group hurt a trainer. Even now years later, long after all the physical evidence was gone, she sometimes thought she could still feel the knife-like spines gliding along and then tearing through her lower lips.

Instead, all she got was a familiar burn, like a single stroke of the whip across her breasts. Painful, but something she had grown used to in the past sixteen years. No worse than what she usually felt each time she used her Gift. Brushing the pain aside like an old friend, Daphne let her consciousness fall fully into the vision even as her body continued without breaking stride.

She found herself looking in on a room she had seen countless times in her visions and had recently grown quite familiar with during her walking moments as well. A thin fog of possibilities clouded the air, making the details of the vision hard to make out. Were the bedsheets blue, white, or purple? The books and papers scattered on Severin’s desk shifted from moment to moment, words blurring and bleeding into one another unless she focused specifically on them.

With the ease of long practice she let her eyes become unfocused, taking in the entire room without looking too hard at any specific thing. Slowly things grew clearer as details overlapped and resolved into a more manageable number of possibilities. Much of what she saw was ultimately meaningless, and it had taken years to learn how to filter out the gold from the chaff.

Severin sat/reclined/lay in his chair/bed, each ghostly figment clutching at an inflamed red circle burnt into his arm. In some visions she lay beside him, her breasts pressed against his back. In others, she or Grace or a hazy red/blue/purple/orange figure knelt between his legs, hard at working keeping his mind off his injury.

Her eyes drifted towards the wound and she felt her Gift pulling her onward into further visions, but she temporarily forced it down and locked the current scene in place. There was more she could still learn here.

She spent nearly a half hour of subjective time drifting through countless variations of that single moment. She carefully memorized every page of notes and book title she could make out, examined each of the two-dozen versions of the third girl in as much detail as she could force out of her Gift, and took note of which possibilities seemed more or less likely.

Much of what she learned was useless. The papers were mostly unfinished homework and each instance of the third girl appeared in barely a handful of neigh-infinite possibilities, but there was still potentially some value in what she found. Even if she could just save her coven-lord some time spent searching for the correct reference books, that certainly wasn’t nothing, and the fact that the third girl existed at all but only in a handful of futures meant that she needed to redouble her efforts throughout the following few weeks. Severin needed a third member for his coven and it was her responsibility to win one for him.

Eventually she could no longer hold back the inexorable pull of her Gift and the vision before her eyes shifted to a new scene. Severin stood at the center of a dueling court across from the indistinct overlap of a dozen different wizards. The stands were packed with students and a massive illusionary display told her it was the semifinal round of the tournament.

Daphne took a deep breath and did her best to ignore the slowly growing ache at the back of her skull. A little pain was nothing and she had work to do. With any luck she’d be able to work through another half-dozen scenes before drawing on her Sight became debilitating. It was very rare that she saw nearly this far into the future. Typically most things became impossibly cloudy past a few short days unless she deliberately worked to filter for and select certain choices and possibilities. She couldn’t afford to squander the opportunity to look two entire months forward, even if she would be paying for it very soon.

Nine scenes and several hours of subjective time later, Daphne’s mind crashed back into her body like an out of control train. She nearly tripped over her own feet as the physical pain she’d been feeling before returned with a vengeance, and this time it was combined with a skull-splitting headache and the sensation of rusty knives stabbing over and over into her tender, overworked soul.

Her head spun as what she’d seen was burned into her memories. Anything she Saw and focused on in her visions would never fade from her mind; a blessing and a curse in equal measures.

Some of what she’d Seen scared her. Her own limbless torso held securely in an enchanted frame as two indistinct shapes loomed over her. Severin on his knees clutching at a ragged wound where his heart should have been. Severin holding her by the throat, his eyes glowing with magic and pins through her eyelids keeping them from closing.

Other scenes were potentially very promising. Severin walking through a display room examining vast rows of caged witches. Severin standing over a tightly restrained lilin, his eyes alight with joy. Severin holding her in his arms as they read a book together, his finger brushing a stray crumb away from her lips.

All of it would require hours of review and analysis. Several of the scenes she’d Seen would need to be revisited and explored in more detail, particularly the ones where she ended up getting tortured or missing limbs. It was always much more painful to focus on a specific potential future, but phantasmal pain was greatly preferable to some of the fates she’d avoided over the years. It wasn’t like she lacked time; what else was she supposed to do while Orion was in class?

Still, that was all something she could worry about later. She didn’t need to be a seer to know that if she didn’t focus on the here and now, Severin was going to find her with a broken nose and a bunch of fresh bruises.

She barely managed to keep her balance, her efforts hampered by the leather sleeve holding her arms behind her back and the horrible heelless heeled ponywitch boots on her feet. Thankfully she didn’t fall, but it disrupted her rhythm to the point that she had to scramble to finish off the last two minutes of her run. Only the short amount of time remaining saving her from face planting.

As the treadmill finally slowed to a stop, Daphne barely managed to stumble the few steps over to where Severin had moved the heap of pillows and blankets before collapsing face first onto the blissfully soft pile. After sixteen years she’d almost forgotten what it felt like to rest on something actually soft and it was still such a rush even after more than a week of sleeping in an actual bed instead of a barely-padded cage.

A moment later, Grace collapsed beside her, the smaller girl’s shoulder digging into Daphne’s side. It kind of hurt, but less than literally everything else did and Daphne simply didn’t have enough energy left to move. Grace tried to say something, but the sound was lost in her gag and further muffled by the pillows until all that was left was a faint, strangled whine.

Yeah. That sounded about right. Daphne tried, but couldn’t muster the strength to whine back. With a huge force of will she tried to budge over slightly, but all she managed to do was roll slightly onto her side…and then rock right back into place except this time Grace’s bony shoulder was digging into an even more painfully sore spot.

Damn it.

Hopefully Severin would come check on them soon. She was starving, parched, and her entire body was covered in sweat. Well, he was certainly not going to give her the orgasm her body craved, but maybe if he was happy with her progress he’d let her suck him off before they went down for dinner. His cum was so much better than her usual food that the mere thought of it was making her salivate.

Damn it, that was so fucking depressing it nearly made her forget about how horny she was. But only nearly. Only three more weeks and forty-one training sessions left before the race, whoopee!