Chapter 5: Psychic Orgy Broadcast
The air in Ambrose’s apartment was a thick stew of sex and shame. Five naked women moved in the dim, candlelit space, their skin gleaming with sweat. On the stained carpet, Lisa, Maria, and Jen were a gasping tangle of limbs, a three-headed creature of need. Jen’s face was buried between Maria’s thighs, her tongue working in furious laps, while Maria, in turn, had her mouth locked on Lisa’s cunt, fingers digging into Lisa’s hips. Lisa arched back, her hands braced on the floor behind her, moaning as she rode Maria’s face, her own free hand frantically rubbing her clit.
But Ambrose’s focus was elsewhere. He sat back in his desk chair, pants around his ankles, his cock jutting out, flushed and dripping. Kneeling before him on a folded towel were Chloe and Mia. Their eyes were glazed, their movements synchronized, as if they were performing a well-rehearsed, filthy ritual.
“Both of you,” Ambrose whispered, his voice hoarse with power and arousal. “Together.”
Chloe, the brunette, leaned in first, her tongue snaking out to lick a slow stripe from the base of his shaft to the tip. She swirled it around the head, collecting the salty bead of pre-cum. Mia, the blonde, followed, her lips parting to take him into the wet heat of her mouth. She didn’t take him deep, just the head, sucking gently as her tongue flicked the sensitive slit.
“Good,” Ambrose breathed, his hand coming to rest on Mia’s head, not pushing, just guiding. “Now switch.”
Mia released him with a soft pop, and Chloe immediately leaned in, enveloping him. Her nose pressed into his pubic hair, her throat working as she took him all the way down, a low guttural sound escaping her. She pulled back, saliva webbing her lips and his cock, and Mia was there again, lapping at the length of him, cleaning her friend’s spit off his skin with devoted swipes of her tongue.
They fell into a rhythm, a lewd, personalized performance. One would suck him deep, throat gagging softly, while the other lavished attention on his balls, licking and sucking the tender flesh. Then they’d switch. The dual sensation, the sight of their focused, vacant faces, sent shocks of pleasure up his spine. His grip on the orb in his left hand tightened.
Inside the glass sphere, Cordelia Chace writhed in silent agony. The sensations of the room—the raw female arousal, the crude dominance of the boy—washed over her, a twisted parody of the sustenance she needed. She was a siphon, forced to drink this tainted energy to maintain her own consciousness within the prison. And now, he was pushing a new command into her, a vile shaping of her power.
Make them see her, his will pressed against her essence. The redhead. My daughter. Make them want her.
Cordelia resisted. A faint, maternal defiance flared. To use her like this, to target her own child… it was an abomination.
A sharp, psychic lash crackled through the orb’s confines. It felt like being dipped in acid. She convulsed. The pain was exquisite, obliterating. His will was an iron clamp around her soul.
Do it.
Defiance crumbled into survival. She reached out with a tendril of her power, not to influence, but to project. She pulled the image from his mind—the glimpse he’d stolen during the grimoire’s feedback. Vivian. Her Vivian. Long red hair, pale skin, a timid mouth that could curl into a devastating smile. She cast the image, not as a person, but as an object of pure, undirected lust, into the minds of the five women.
The effect was instantaneous.
In the pile on the floor, Jen lifted her head from Maria’s cunt, her chin glistening. “Who…?” she murmured, her eyes seeing something beyond the room. Her hand, which had been gripping Maria’s thigh, slid up to her own breast, pinching a nipple hard. “The redhead… she should be here.”
Maria broke her seal on Lisa, gasping for air. “Yeah,” she panted, her own gaze turning glassy. “She’s so pretty. I want to taste her.”
Lisa, suddenly bereft, whimpered. “I want her to fuck me. I want her to use her mouth… right here.” She spread her legs wider, two fingers plunging into her own soaked cunt.
Before Ambrose, Chloe and Mia pulled back from his cock, their shared rhythm broken. They looked at each other, then up at Ambrose, but their eyes were focused on a phantom between them.
“She could kneel with us,” Chloe said, her voice dreamy. She licked her lips. “I’d kiss her while Mia sucks your cock, sir.”
Mia nodded eagerly, a string of saliva still connecting her to Ambrose’s shaft. “Her skin would be so soft. I’d want to bite her neck. I’d let her do anything to me.”
Their collective arousal didn’t dissipate; it refocused, intensifying, becoming a shared fantasy that fed on itself. The air grew hotter, thicker. Ambrose could feel it, a palpable wave of hungry need that made the hairs on his arms stand up. The orb in his hand grew warm, then hot, pulsing with a dark, violet light. Cordelia was channeling their amplified desire, and it was feedback directly into the orb’s mechanisms.
He grinned, a crooked, ugly thing. This was better than he’d imagined. He wasn’t just creating a harem; he was forging a weapon. Their lust for the imagined Vivian was a psychic beacon, a tuning fork vibrating at a frequency only his target would truly feel.
“Think about her,” he commanded softly, his own cock throbbing with renewed interest at the power he was wielding. “Think about what you’d let her do to you. Every dirty detail. Imagine her touch.”
He placed his right hand on Chloe’s head, his left, still clutching the orb, on Mia’s. He pushed their faces back toward his erection.
Obediently, their mouths returned to him, but their movements were different now. Frenzied. Competitive. Chloe took him deep, her throat working violently, her nose mashing into his skin as if she were trying to consume him. Mia, not to be outdone, shoved her face into his groin, her tongue probing roughly beneath his balls, licking at his perineum. They were no longer just pleasing him; they were performing for the ghost in the room, trying to prove who was more deserving of the redhead’s attention.
On the floor, the trio had dissolved into a frantic, moaning mess. Jen had rolled onto her back, pulling Lisa on top of her so that Lisa’s dripping cunt was positioned over her mouth. Lisa lowered herself, groaning as Jen’s tongue speared into her. Maria crawled behind Jen, spreading Jen’s legs wide, and pushed two fingers into Jen from behind, fucking her in time with Jen’s cuntious motions on Lisa. Their movements were jerky, desperate, each lost in a private hallucination where a pale, redheaded woman was the center of their universe.
The psychic pressure built. It was a hum just below hearing, a pressure behind the eyes. Ambrose could see it: faint, shimmering strands of pinkish-grey energy emanating from each of the women, swirling around the orb like electrons around a nucleus. The link was forming. It was thin, tenuous, but it was real. He was using their collective fantasy, their amplified and directed horniness, to forge a connection to the source of that fantasy’s inspiration: Vivian herself.
He threw his head back, ecstatic. Power wasn’t just about having women suck your dick. It was about making them want to suck it for someone else’s approval. It was about twisting their desires into puppet strings that could reach across the city.
“More,” he grunted, his hips pumping up into Chloe’s eager mouth. “Think harder about her. Want her more.”
The orb flashed, hot enough now to almost burn his palm. Inside, Cordelia wept soundless tears of rage and despair, her very essence being perverted into a hunting tool for her daughter.
Across town, in the back room of Ye Olde Unmentionables, Vivian jolted upright from a fitful sleep on a chaise lounge. A cold sweat coated her skin. The lingering, pleasant satiation from the greenhouse orgy was gone, replaced by a sudden, sharp pang of hunger. But it was a wrong hunger. It didn’t feel like her own need. It felt like… an echo. A distorted reflection.
Shadows peeled away from the corners of the room, swirling around her protectively. She felt a pull, a faint, psychic tug from the direction of the waterfront. It was accompanied by a wave of imagery—not clear pictures, but sensations: frantic mouths, grasping hands, a chorus of breathy female voices moaning a name that wasn’t quite hers, but was meant for her. And beneath it all, a familiar, maternal presence, screaming in silent torment.
Her stomach churned. She clutched the summoning pendant Jan had given her, the metal cold against her palm.
It wasn’t a call. It was a trap being baited. And the bait was the twisted, longing thought of her, broadcast on a frequency of coerced lust.
He knew she could feel it. He was counting on it.
Vivian stands in the dark shop, the phantom sensations of five stranger’s orgasms echoing in her nerves, and the cold certainty that her mother’s prison was now also a snare, and she was the intended prey.
Vivian’s hand shook as she fumbled her phone from her jacket pocket. The echoes of those foreign climaxes still trembled in her muscles, a repulsive invitation. She hit Jan’s contact.
“Red?” Jan’s voice was alert, wary. “You okay?”
“He’s baiting me,” Vivian rasped, the words tight in her throat. “I can feel it. There are women… anonymous women. He’s using their… their arousal, their forced fantasies about me, to pull at me. It’s a link. My mother is the amplifier.”
A muffured curse came through the line, then Fatima’s sharper tone in the background. “She’s describing a psionic tether. Crude, but effective if the source energy is strong enough.”
“We’re working on the ritual to bust the orb,” Jan said, her voice shifting into planning mode. “But we need more juice, Viv. More raw, sexual oomph to overload the circuit. Fatima’s drawing the diagrams, Aaron and Annie are grabbing ritual components with the kids.”
“What do you need me to do?” Vivian asked, her shadows curling around her legs in agitated tendrils.
“Get on your bike. Meet us at Mike and Casey’s place. If there’s anyone in our circle who won’t blink at being told they’re needed for a sex ritual, it’s them.”
In the background, Hank’s voice grumbled, “They’re the weirdest people we know. They’ll just call it a typical Tuesday and ask what time they need to get naked.”
“Exactly,” Jan said. “We’re heading there now. Just… hold on. Don’t follow that psychic smell. We’ll drown it out.”
Vivian didn’t hesitate. The ride through the cool Chicago night was a blur of streetlights and roaring engine, a desperate attempt to outrun the ghostly sensations that lapped at the edges of her mind. She parked her motorcycle behind Jan’s van on the quiet suburban street just as Jan, Fatima, Hank, and Godfrey II were walking up the front path.
Fatima carried a leather satchel bulging with scrolls. Jan looked focused, the usual mischief replaced by a steely determination. Hank just looked deeply out of his depth, holding the puppy’s leash.
“Annie and Aaron are with Jason, Amy, Yukio, Katie, and Abbie,” Jan said without preamble, marching up the steps. “Gathering the last bits. Herbs, specific crystals, that kinda thing.”
Vivian winced at Abbie’s inclusion. Her innocent shopgirl was now part of a magical ingredient hunt. Nothing was normal anymore.
Jan knocked. After a moment, the door was opened by Stacy, the fitness instructor, her dark hair tied in a severe ponytail, a baby monitor clipped to her waistband. She looked surprised, then offered a warm smile. “Hey guys. Didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“We need Mike and Casey,” Jan said, brushing past gently. “It’s urgent.”
“Oh, they’re, uh, upstairs,” Stacy said, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She nodded toward the ceiling. “I’m keeping an eye on Rick while they do… something.”
A low, rhythmic thump echoed through the ceiling, followed by a muffured, eager feminine cry that was unmistakably Casey’s. Then Mike’s deeper, encouraging groan. The air in the hallway seemed to thicken, carrying the faint, musky scent of sex down the stairs.
Vivian blushed furiously, the ambient energy from upstairs feeling like a physical touch compared to the violating pull from Ambrose’s apartment.
Jan just cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled toward the staircase. “Mike! Casey! Company! Vivian needs your help!”
The thumping stopped. There was a beat of silence, then the sound of hurried footsteps. A moment later, Mike and Casey appeared at the top of the stairs, both gloriously, unselfconsciously naked.
Mike’s cock was half-hard, bobbing as he walked down. Casey’s skin was flushed, her breasts swaying, her dark hair tousled. They looked more curious than embarrassed.
“What’s up?” Mike asked, reaching the bottom and scratching his stomach. “You guys okay?”
Casey peered at Vivian. “You look pale, Viv. Well, paler. Everything cool?”
Hank muttered, “I stand by my statement. You two are the weirdest.”
“We need you to pleasure Vivian,” Jan said, her tone utterly matter-of-fact. “Right now. She’s being psychically baited by a twerp of a hedge wizard using her trapped mom and a bunch of enchanted women as a lure. We need to ground her, distract her, and build up her personal energy reserves. You in?”
Mike and Casey glanced at each other, then back at the group. A silent conversation passed between them in a raised eyebrow and a slight shrug.
“Sure,” Casey said, as if Jan had asked them to put on a pot of coffee. “You mean, like, now-now? Upstairs is kinda a mess.”
“A hedge wizard?” Mike asked, his brow furrowing. “Is that like a garden gnome with attitude? I don’t really get the magic stuff, but if helping Viv means a double-team, we’re your guys.” He offered Vivian a kind, slightly goofy smile. “You good with that?”
The directness, the lack of guile, was a relief. It was nothing like the coercive, twisted hunger pulling from downtown. This was an offer, simple and clean. Vivian found herself nodding, her voice a whisper. “Yes. Please.”
Mike nodded. Casey took Vivian’s hand. “C’mon. Our room’s a disaster, but the bed’s comfy.”
They led her back upstairs, past Stacy who gave a small, encouraging nod, and into a bedroom that smelled intimately of them—of clean sweat, sex, and baby powder from a nearby nursery. The sheets were in disarray.
“Just tell us what you need, or what feels good,” Casey said softly, guiding Vivian to sit on the edge of the bed. “No pressure.”
Mike knelt before her, his hands gentle as he helped her out of her boots, then her jeans. Casey, behind her, pulled the leather jacket from her shoulders, then her shirt. Soon, Vivian was naked, her pale skin dotted with goosebumps in the warm room.
Mike leaned in, kissing the inside of her thigh. His mouth was warm, his stubble a faint scratch. He moved inward slowly, giving her time to adjust. His tongue touched her first, a soft, flat stroke through her folds. Vivian gasped, her head falling back against Casey’s shoulder.
Casey’s hands came around to cup Vivian’s breasts, her thumbs circling the nipples, pinching them to stiff peaks. She kissed Vivian’s neck, her teeth grazing the tendon. “He’s really good with his mouth,” Casey murmured, her own breath hitching. “Just wait.”
Mike was indeed thorough. He licked and sucked, his tongue probing her entrance before focusing on her clit. He didn’t just flick at it; he sucked the sensitive bud into his mouth, applying a steady, rhythmic pressure that made Vivian’s thighs shake. One of his hands came up, his fingers sliding into her alongside his tongue, stretching her, filling her.
“Fuck,” Vivian breathed, the crude word ripped from her.
“Yeah,” Mike said, pulling back for a second, his chin glistening. “That’s the idea.” He returned to his work with renewed focus.
Casey guided Vivian to lie back, then swung a leg over her, straddling her face. “Return the favor?” she asked, her voice husky. Vivian didn’t hesitate. She lifted her head, her tongue finding Casey’s wet, swollen flesh. The taste was strong, primal, and uniquely Casey. Vivian licked hungrily, following Mike’s lead, learning what made Casey’s hips jerk.
The double sensation was overwhelming, a cascade of input. The skillful, devoted attention of Mike’s mouth on her cunt, the weight and taste of Casey above her, the feeling of Casey’s fingers twisting in her red hair. The wrong, psychic pull from Ambrose’s apartment began to recede, drowned out by this immediate, shared reality.
After a few minutes, Casey shuddered and pulled away, rolling onto the bed beside them, panting. “Mike, now. She needs you inside her.”
Mike moved up Vivian’s body, his cock, now fully hard, nudging against her. He looked into her eyes, a question there. She wrapped her legs around his waist, an answer. He pushed in, a slow, inexorable fill that stole the air from Vivian’s lungs. He was thick, and the stretch was exquisite after the careful preparation.
He began to move, steady, deep thrusts that hit a spot inside her that made her see stars. Casey propped herself up on an elbow beside them, her hand snaking between their bodies to rub Vivian’s clit in tight, perfect circles in time with Mike’s thrusts.
“Come on, Viv,” Casey whispered, her own arousal evident in her rough tone. “Let it go. Fucking come for us. Drown that bastard out.”
The coil, tightened by fear and violation, finally snapped. The orgasm erupted from her core, a seismic wave of release that had nothing to do with feeding and everything to do with reclaiming her own senses. She cried out, a raw, tearing sound, her body arching off the bed as Mike drove into her through the convulsions, his own groan signaling his climax, his release pulsing hot inside her.
They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat. The ghostly, grasping tendrils of Ambrose’s bait were gone, severed for now by the sheer, grounding force of real, consensual pleasure. Vivian lay between them, spent and safe, her energy restored, the psychic static replaced by the sound of three racing hearts.
Downstairs, Jan felt the shift in the air, the stabilizing of Vivian’s signature. “Good,” she said to Fatima. “That’ll hold her. Now we prep for the main event.”
Far across the city, in a chic, minimalist loft that smelled of ozone and expensive perfume, a woman named Drusilla lifted her head from her scrying pool. The water showed not images, but pulsing waves of power. A new, potent, and beautifully corrupt signature had just flared on the magical spectrum, near the waterfront. It was untrained, leaking everywhere, ripe with entitlement and fragile, petulant desire.
She smiled, a cold stretching of lips. The Order of the Morningstar was always looking for promising new recruits. This one, she thought, might not even need much convincing. He already understood the most important principle: take what you want. They just needed to teach him to take more.