Chapter 6: Obsession
The shift was subtle at first, a quieting of the frantic, clawing hunger that had defined her mornings. In its place grew a profound, deep-running current of power, a wellspring of pink energy that felt less like a separate force and more like her own bloodstream. Candice stood in the center of the University’s official appraisal chamber, a sterile, circular room lined with mana-absorbing basalt. Professor Vance, a grizzled old elementalist with a permanent frown, manipulated the crystalline measurement array. Beams of white light scanned her from head to toe.
“Channel your core, Dixon. Maximum output. No holds,” he grunted.
Candice closed her eyes. She didn’t think of complex formulae. She thought of the heat of Kendra’s skin under her tongue. She thought of the crushing tightness of her own orgasms, the way they seemed to pull energy from the very air. She let that feeling, that raw, grateful lust, flood out of her.
The chamber didn’t fill with flickering lightning. It bloomed. A warm, rosy radiance poured from her, not as a blast, but as an atmosphere. It filled the space, thick and honeyed, making the Professor clear his throat and adjust his collar. The crystals hummed, their pitch rising until it settled into a clear, resonant chime.
Professor Vance stared at the glowing runic display etched into the wall. He blinked, checked his slate, then looked back at her. His frown had dissolved into pure astonishment. “Level Thirty,” he announced, his voice flat with disbelief. “Verified and stabilized. Congratulations, Miss Dixon. You have met the graduation requirement.”
A wave of emotion hit her so hard her knees nearly buckled. Not the pink, lustful kind. This was something older, purer, rising from a deep, almost forgotten place within her. It was triumph. It was vindication. Five years of shame, of being the weakest, of staring at her own trembling, sparking fingers with despair—it was over. She had done it. She had fucking done it.
She walked out of the appraisal chamber into the bright afternoon light of the university quadrangle, and the world felt different. The weight was gone. The looming specter of expulsion had vanished. She was Candice Dixon, Level Thirty Mage, a top-tier student by any metric. She let out a breath that felt like it had been held for half a decade.
The celebration that night in the Crimson Lotus suite was a private, decadent affair. Madame Lysandra herself sent up a bottle of sparkling wine that tasted of blackberries and magic. Kendra was ecstatic, her laughter ringing off the mirrored walls.
“My little prodigy!” she crowed, pulling Candice into a crushing hug that mashed her face between impossibly soft breasts. “I told you! I fucking told you!”
For once, Candice didn’t stiffen or pull away. She hugged her back, burying her smile in Kendra’s cleavage, inhaling her vanilla-amber scent. The happiness was genuine, a bright sun in her chest. She had achieved her dream.
But dreams, once realized, have a way of revealing new horizons. The desperate need for academic survival had been her primary focus, a blinding spotlight. Now, with that light switched off, other details swam into sharp, unavoidable focus.
It started with her hands. During their sessions—no longer just morning fuel-ups, but prolonged, mutual explorations that stretched deep into the night—Candice found her attention trapped by the contrast. Her own fingers, short-nailed, practical, pale against the vast, tawny landscape of Kendra’s body. She would knead the heavy, full breasts, feeling their incredible weight settle in her palms, and a thought would whisper: What would it feel like to have this weight on my own chest? To feel them sway, to have nipples this sensitive?
The obsession grew tactile, then visual. She would spend minutes just tracing the exaggerated hourglass curve of Kendra’s waist, flaring out to the immense, round swell of her hips and ass. She’d dig her fingers into the resilient, jiggling flesh of Kendra’s rear, listening to her gasp, and Candice would fantasize about having that same shelf of flesh behind her, about the way a simple walk would become a sensual event.
“You love my ass, don’t you?” Kendra purred one evening, bent over the back of a velvet divan. She was completely naked, her skin gleaming in the candlelight. “You’re always grabbing it.”
“It’s… impressive,” Candice admitted, her voice husky. She was kneeling behind her, running her hands over the twin mounds.
“Impressive?” Kendra laughed, looking over her shoulder. “It’s a fucking masterpiece. And it feels even better than it looks. Here…”
Kendra guided Candice’s hands, spreading her own cheeks. “Feel how hot it is right there. How soft. That’s where you need to be sensitive, Candi. Every part of you should be an erogenous zone.”
Candice leaned in, not to lick, but to nuzzle, to feel the heat and the perfect, smooth texture against her cheek. A pang of sharp, hungry envy lanced through her. She wanted this. Not just to touch, but to possess. To have a body that was itself a source of power, a tactile delight, a weapon of sensual distraction. Her own modest frame—the small breasts, the boyish hips, the lean muscles of a student who’d done too much frantic studying and not enough living—felt inadequate. A practical vessel, not a temple.
The sex itself evolved, becoming a study in contrast. It was no longer just about mutual orgasm to feed the core. For Candice, it became a mapping expedition, a desperate, hands-on research project into the voluptuous form she coveted.
One night, she pushed Kendra onto the bed and simply stared, her pale blue eyes wide behind her glasses. “Don’t move,” she whispered.
Kendra smiled, stretching like a contented leopard, fully inviting the scrutiny. Candice started at her feet, with the delicate pink nails, and worked her way up. She massaged Kendra’s calves, her thighs, paying special attention to the soft, yielding inner skin. She spent an inordinate amount of time on Kendra’s pussy, not just to bring her to climax, but to observe. The plump, slick lips, the way the hood of her clit seemed perpetually swollen, the glistening evidence of her constant, ready arousal. Candice kissed it, softly, almost reverently, then whispered against it, “Is it always this wet?”
“For you, baby? Pretty much,” Kendra sighed, threading her fingers through Candice’s short black hair.
Candice moved upward, her obsession consuming her. She took Kendra’s massive, pendulous breasts in her hands, lifting their weight, watching them spill through her fingers. She lowered her head and suckled, not with frantic hunger, but with a deep, studying focus. She swirled her tongue around the large areola, flicked the hard nipple, bit down gently until Kendra cried out.
“Do you… do you come from just this?” Candice asked, pulling off with a wet pop.
“Sometimes,” Kendra panted. “If you’re good enough. If you worship them like they deserve.”
Candice worshiped. She licked and sucked and kneaded until her jaw ached, consumed by a fantasy of her own chest swelling, becoming heavy and sensitive, a direct conduit to her core. She moved to Kendra’s mouth, those full, pillowy lips perpetually glossed and parted. She kissed her deeply, sucking on her lower lip, fascinated by its thickness.
“You have the perfect mouth,” Candice murmured, their breath mingling.
“For sucking cock,” Kendra finished with a wicked grin, her pink acrylic nails tracing Candice’s cheek. “And for eating pussy. And for kissing. It’s all purpose, babe.”
Candice kissed her again, imagining her own lips swelling, becoming fuller, perpetually kiss-bruised and inviting. The envy was a living thing now, coiling in her stomach alongside her magical core.
The culmination came after a particularly long, detailed session. They were a tangled mess of limbs on the fur rug, slick with sweat and other fluids. Kendra was on her back, one leg hooked over Candice’s shoulder. Candice was driving into her with three fingers, her own clit rubbing against Kendra’s thigh, their movements synchronized into a wet, frantic rhythm.
“Fuck, right there, Candi, don’t stop!” Kendra chanted, her head thrown back, her massive tits shuddering with each thrust.
Candice was close, but her focus was split. Her gaze was locked on the visual of her own slender fingers disappearing into Kendra’s voluptuous body, the juxtaposition of her plainness against Kendra’s extreme femininity. It was that thought that finally tipped her over the edge. She imagined her own hips widening, her ass becoming a plush cushion, her torso curving into that impossible, seductive silhouette. She pictured herself with long, flowing hair, not this practical black crop. She saw nails, not short and bare, but long, painted talons scraping down a lover’s back.
The fantasy was so vivid, so intensely craved, that it triggered her climax. She screamed, her back arching violently as pleasure, sharper and more complex than ever before, tore through her. It was mixed with the bitter tang of want. Kendra followed a second later, her inner walls clamping down like a vice, her cry echoing off the mirrors.
In the shuddering aftermath, as they lay gasping, the pink aura of their combined release slowly fading, Candice finally gave voice to the obsession.
“I want it,” she whispered, her face buried in Kendra’s neck.
“Want what, baby?” Kendra asked, her voice slurry with satisfaction.
“This,” Candice said, her hand splaying possessively over Kendra’s hip, gripping the generous flesh. “I want… I want to look like you. I want to feel like you do. I want the sensitivity. I want the curves. I want everything.”
Kendra went very still. Then, slowly, she turned her head, her eyes searching Candice’s. The usual seductive playfulness was gone, replaced by a fierce, blazing seriousness. “Are you sure?” she asked, her voice low. “This isn’t about power anymore. You have your Level Thirty. This is about… becoming. It’s irreversible, Candi. And it’s not just the body. The mind… the needs… they amplify, too. It’s a different kind of hunger.”
Candice didn’t pull her hand away. She kept it there, fingers pressed into the softness of Kendra’s hip as if claiming it. The silent, mirrored room seemed to hold its breath, the candles guttering. “I’m sure,” she said, and the words felt like stones dropping into a deep well, decisive and final. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. Tell me what it means. All of it.”
Kendra shifted, rolling onto her side to face Candice fully. The playful mask was gone, stripped away by the gravity of the question. This was the mentor, the pioneer, speaking. “The first transformation happens at Level Twenty. You’re past that. You can get the mark anytime. The tramp stamp. It’s a key, Candi. It unlocks the changes your magic has been waiting to express. Your body will reshape itself. Your hair, your nails, your face, your curves… everything becomes more. More sensitive. More exaggerated. More you, but a you that’s been dialled all the way up to eleven.”
“I want that,” Candice breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs. The image was so clear in her mind it felt like a memory.
“I know you do. I see you looking.” Kendra’s voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. “But listen to me. It’s not just the body that dials up. The need does too. The hunger. Right now, what we do… it’s enough. It fills your core, it gets you off. After the transformation? It won’t be.”
Candice blinked. “What do you mean? We’ll just… do more.”
Kendra shook her head, her long pink-streaked hair whispering over her shoulders. “It’s not about frequency. It’s about scale. The engine gets bigger. The fuel has to change. My touch, my mouth, my fingers… it’ll still feel amazing, but it’ll be like trying to fill a bathtub with a teaspoon. You’ll crave… intensity. A different kind of fullness.” She paused, her glossy lips pursed. “I won’t be able to satiate you by myself anymore. Not really.”
A cold trickle of apprehension slid down Candice’s spine, cutting through the heat of her desire. “What does that mean, Kendra? Say it plainly.”
Kendra’s gaze was unwavering. “It means you’ll need to start fucking cocks. Real, thick, hard cocks. You’ll need to suck dick, deep and messy, to properly cum. Your body, after the change, will be built for it. It’ll demand it. The magic will yearn for that specific exchange, that… that penetrating energy. It’s the next logical step in the feed.”
The words hung in the air, obscene and clinical all at once. Fucking cocks. Sucking dick. They weren’t theoretical concepts. They were specific, physical acts. Candice’s mind, usually so adept at parsing complex magical theory, stumbled over the imagery. A stranger. The weight of a man. The invasion. The taste. Her stomach clenched, but not entirely with revulsion. Beneath the fear, a low, treacherous pulse of curiosity throbbed in time with the glow on her womb.
“You’re not ready for that right now,” Kendra continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. She reached out, tracing the line of Candice’s jaw with a pink nail. “I see it. The thought scares you. It should. It’s a big fucking leap. But I can help you get ready. We can… simulate. We can build the desire for it, so when the time comes, you’re not afraid. You’re hungry for it.”
Candice absorbed this, her thoughts racing. The goalposts had moved again. First, the goal was Level Thirty. She’d seized that. Now, the goal was this new form, this voluptuous ideal she craved with a soul-deep ache. And the price was admitting she would eventually crave something else, something that felt infinitely more foreign and dangerous. She looked at Kendra—her confidence, her power, her unashamed ownership of her own sexuality. Kendra had done this. Kendra had crossed that line.
The fear was still there, a tight knot in her throat. But a stronger, more insistent feeling swamped it: a startling, unambiguous eagerness. She was surprised by its intensity. It felt like looking over a cliff edge and feeling not vertigo, but a pull to jump.
“I want your guidance,” Candice said, the words leaving her lips before she could second-guess them. She didn’t just say it; she declared it, her pale blue eyes locked on Kendra’s. “Show me. Help me get ready. I want the transformation. I want everything that comes with it.”
Kendra’s smile returned, but it was new. It wasn’t the seductive, teasing grin from before. It was fierce, proud, and blazing with possession. “That’s my girl.” She leaned in and kissed Candice, not with soft passion, but with a conquering force that stole the breath from her lungs. “Tonight, we start.”
The atmosphere in the suite shifted from celebratory to crucible. Kendra moved with a new purpose, lighting more candles until the room swam in warm, flickering light. The mirrors multiplied their images, infinite reflections of what was and what might soon be. “The first lesson,” Kendra said, her voice assuming a low, instructional tone, “is about wanting the thing you think you should fear. Your mind is still fighting your body. We need to sync them up.”
She walked to a large, ornate trunk at the foot of her bed and opened it. From within, she pulled out an object. It was made of polished, dark glass, and it was unmistakably a phallus, thick and veined, with a subtle curve. It gleamed in the candlelight.
Candice stared. Her mouth went dry. It was both alien and fascinating. “You use that?”
“Sometimes. When I need to feel full, and no one’s around who can do the job right.” Kendra placed it on the bed between them. “It’s not the same. But it’s a good teacher. Your first assignment is to want it. Not to use it. Just to want it.”
“How?” Candice whispered, her eyes glued to the dark, sculpted glass.
“By remembering how empty you feel right before you come,” Kendra said, moving behind her. She pressed her body against Candice’s back, her massive breasts a warm weight against Candice’s shoulder blades. Her hands came around to cradle Candice’s small breasts through her shirt. “That emptiness is going to get deeper, wider. Your pretty little pussy is going to feel like a hollowed-out ache that only one thing can truly fill. Think about that ache. Then look at it.”
Kendra’s fingers pinched Candice’s nipples through the fabric, sharp and bright. Candice gasped, her back arching. The familiar hunger stirred, but Kendra’s words gave it a new shape, a new target. She felt empty. She was always empty before the climax. She stared at the glass cock, and her mind, treacherous and adaptive, began to translate. That shape could fill the emptiness. That size could stretch the ache into something else, into completion.
“Good,” Kendra murmured, sensing the shift in her breathing. She pulled Candice’s shirt off over her head, then unsnapped her plain bra. Cool air brushed her skin, followed by the heat of Kendra’s palms directly on her flesh. “Now, get on your knees on the bed. Face the mirror. Look at yourself. Look at how much you want to change.”
Candice obeyed, her movements shaky. She knelt, facing a vast mirror that reflected the entire bed. She saw her own slender form, her modest breasts, her short, practical hair. She saw Kendra looming behind her, a vision of abundant flesh and carnal knowledge. And between them, on the black silk, lay the dark, glossy instrument of her education.
Kendra knelt behind her, her thighs bracketing Candice’s. Her hands slid down Candice’s stomach, tracing the outline of the glowing heart tattoo. “Touch yourself,” Kendra commanded, her lips against Candice’s ear. “Get wet for it. Get wet thinking about what it would feel like to have that inside you, fucking the emptiness away.”
Candice’s hand trembled as she brought it between her legs. She was already slick, her body responding to the tension, the taboo, the instructional tenor in Kendra’s voice. She circled her clit, her eyes fixed on the reflection. She didn’t see Candice the struggling student anymore. She saw a prototype. A before picture. And the deep, covetous want for the ‘after’ roared through her.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Kendra said, her own hands roaming, squeezing Candice’s hips as if measuring them for expansion.
“I’m thinking…” Candice panted, her fingers working faster. “I’m thinking about how wide I’d need to be. To take that. How much I’d have to stretch.” The words were filthy and clinical, and they made her clit throb.
“You’d stretch so pretty,” Kendra whispered, biting her earlobe. “Your tight little cunt would grip it like a fist. You’d feel every ridge. You’d feel full. Now imagine it’s not glass. Imagine it’s warm. Imagine it’s attached to a man who wants to ruin you with it. Imagine his hands on these hips, pulling you onto him.”
Candice moaned, the sound tearing from her throat. The fantasy unspooled, vivid and shocking. It wasn’t a faceless man. It was a sensation.A weight. A relentless, pounding fullness. Her fingers plunged inside herself, seeking a depth they couldn’t reach. The emptiness yawned, a cavernous need.
“I want it,” she hissed, surprising herself with the venom in her voice. “God, Kendra, I want to feel that.”
“Not yet,” Kendra soothed, but her hands were urgent. She reached around and took the glass artifact from the bed. She held it in front of Candice, aligning its tip with Candice’s reflection, just below her belly. “But you can want it. You can taste it.”
She brought the smooth, cool crown to Candice’s lips. Candice didn’t hesitate. She opened her mouth, letting the glass press against her tongue. It was inert, flavourless. But the act of taking it in, of wrapping her lips around the imposing girth, was transformative. She sucked, tentatively at first, then with more force, hollowing her cheeks. She bobbed her head, mimicking what she’d seen in secret, whispered parts of the internet she’d never dared explore.
“Look at yourself,” Kendra demanded, voice rough with excitement. “Look at your slutty little mouth stretched around that fake cock. Imagine it’s real. Imagine the taste. Imagine him fucking your face until you gag.”
Candice’s eyes, wide and dark with lust, locked onto her own reflection. She saw a woman she barely recognized, lips distended, a mockery of a phallus glistening with her saliva. Shame tried to surface and was immolated in the furnace of her need. This was practice. This was preparation. This was power. She moaned around the glass, the vibration humming through her jaw.
Kendra pulled it away, a string of spit connecting it to Candice’s lips. “Good. So good. Now, for the next part.” She guided Candice down onto her hands and knees. The silk was cool beneath her palms. Kendra positioned herself behind her, one hand stroking the curve of Candice’s spine. The other brought the glass toy to her entrance.
Candice flinched at the first touch, the coolness a shock against her fever-hot skin. “Relax,” Kendra cooed, but it was not a gentle suggestion. It was an order. “Push back. Show me how much you want it to fill you up.”
Candice obeyed, sinking her hips back. The tip pressed against her, then began to insinuate itself. It was wider than anything she’d ever taken. A burn of stretch sang through her nerves, a bright, sharp pain edged with profound promise. She cried out, a ragged sound.
“Breathe through it,” Kendra instructed, not pushing, letting Candice control the descent. “This is nothing. This is a toy. The real thing will be hotter. Heavier. It’ll split you open and you’ll beg for it.”
The words were a catalyst. Candice pushed back harder, taking another inch. The stretch intensified, a burning fullness that began to transmute into something else. It was filling the void. It was answering the ache. A broken sob escaped her. It was too much. It wasn’t enough.
“More,” she grunted, the word mangled.
Kendra’s hand steadied her hip, finally applying pressure. She pushed the toy home with a slow, relentless advance. Candice felt herself being impaled, opened, claimed by the inert glass. It was a simulation of possession, and her body, trained now to seek power through sensation, lit up like a sigil. Her magic core detonated in a shower of pink sparks that skittered across the sheets. The pleasure was different. It was deeper, less focused on her clit and more centred in that incredible, devastating fullness. It was a preview.
Kendra began to move it, slow pulls and pushes. Each withdrawal left her feeling gutted, empty in a way that was now terrifyingly specific. Each thrust back in was a relief so profound it bordered on spiritual. Candice fucked herself back on it, meeting each stroke, her sounds animalistic, guttural. She came suddenly, a crashing wave that originated from that deep, penetrated place, washing outwards until her whole body shuddered and convulsed around the invading object.
When it was over, Kendra withdrew the toy. Candice collapsed onto her side, boneless, her mind blank white noise. The emptiness returned, but it was different now. It had a known shape. It had a known cure.
Kendra lay beside her, stroking her damp hair. “See?” she said softly. “Your body knows. It’s just waiting for the upgrade to fully embrace it.” She kissed Candice’s shoulder. “We’ll do this again. And again. We’ll train that pretty cunt to need it. And when you’re ready, when you’re dripping and begging for the real thing, we’ll get you your mark. We’ll unlock you.”
Candice turned her head. In the mirror, she saw a woman with flushed skin, blown pupils, and a raw, hungry expression she’d never seen before. The eagerness hadn’t faded. It had crystallized. The fear was still there, but it was a tiny, distant thing, a pebble beside a mountain of need.
“Soon,” Candice said, and it was a vow.