Chapter Text
The tour of the cousins’ apothecary was unremarkable. But that was a positive to Ghisten’s business-focused mind. Unremarkable tended to equate to reliable.
The two cousins were a pair of ladies only a few years younger than Ghisten: Clarissa and Tamika. They were newly-arrived in Eshmagebal, having learned their craft from various parts of the Empire, from their native realm of the northern Occitan bay to a few pilgrimages along the rocky shores of Ostra, apprenticing under urban herbalists and isolated hermits alike.
Both were a head shorter than Ghisten. Clarissa had auburn hair with narrow hazel eyes. Tamika’s straight, black hair fell to her mid-back. She beamed with a wide-eyed smile and walked with long struts while clasping her hands behind her back, which made her seem more youthfully jovial than her partner.
Both wore modest, short-sleeved beige dresses and matching hairbands. However, they sported a bit of eye-catching flare: neon-colored stockings showing between their shoes and the hems of their dresses, drawing the eye to their calves. Clarissa’s were teal and Tamika’s were violet.
All the while, they took turns eagerly explaining the processing tricks and innovations they picked up in their travels.
Truthfully, Ghisten wasn’t paying much attention. Instead, he noted the craftsmanship of their imported alembics, utensils, and vessels. Sure, they were set alongside the clutter of unopened shipping crates and knapsacks (with the high price of rent, Tamika and Clarissa couldn’t afford time to properly unpack), but the quality told Ghisten of the merit and seriousness of these industrious cousins.
Not only that, but they had even transplanted their own herbs into a small greenhouse. “We simply cannot make assumptions about certain ingredients,” Tamika explained to him, “We carried these plants all the way here from our homeland. We had to be sure the strains were right.” Clarissa playfully added, “Besides, we’re quite fond of gardening and cultivating.”
There was even a silver lining to the ladies: they required an impressive amount of goods on short notice, and had cash on hand to pay up front! During the tour of their modest operation, Ghisten’s attention was divided between the ladies’ excited explanations and the numbers being crunched in his mind’s right hemisphere: counting up current profits, and planning future sales pitches to the witches.
When the purchase order was completed and the tour done, the two cousins abruptly suggested a reprieve.
“We’ve done quite a bit of walking, haven’t we?” said Clarissa. “Perhaps we can take a moment to sit and chat a while?”
She gestured to a nearby sitting room of sorts. But it was mostly bare, save for three chairs arranged to face one-another. Ghisten noticed how Clarissa glanced to Tamika as she made the offer. There was a tension of nervousness between them.
Ghisten was about to politely decline and make way for his apartment; but then, Tamika said (somewhat pleadingly ) “We can tell you about our more ‘exotic’ ingredients!”
It was like a switch had flipped in him. And he found it quite puzzling, even as he eagerly agreed and entered that sparse room. With his back turned to the ladies, he did not see them share a stern look between themselves.
When they all sat down, an uncomfortable silence filled the room. Ghisten idly tapped his foot on the floor, looking between Tamika and Clarissa with a curt, impatient, and somewhat confused smile.
Tamika looked to Clarissa.
Clarissa looked to Tamika.
Finally, Tamika took initiative, and suddenly leaned forward in her seat, reaching her fingers down to her calves. She brought them down to her ankles, and gently drew them up, sliding her nails against the smooth fabric of her leggings. Her sight was uncannily locked upon Ghisten.
But the merchant didn’t notice her stare. Instead, he was fully distracted by the motion of her hand, and suddenly found himself appreciating the shape of what little bit of her legs he could see.
The women shared another look.
Now, Clarissa did the same motion. She reached down to the base of her calves, and then traced her achilles up. And now, Ghisten was appreciating the shape of her calves.
Tamika and Clarissa nodded to one another. They began caressing their own legs before their merchant guest. Up and down, from foot to knee, front and back.
They didn’t speak a word to him. The silence hung heavier, and they felt so uneasy that the room itself seemed to grow smaller and stuffier. But words were not necessary: it was clear by the look upon Ghisten’s face that he was positively transfixed by the movements of their hands upon their stocking-clad legs.
Clarissa looked to Tamika.
Tamika looked to Clarissa.
It seemed each was expecting the other to proceed. In the end, it was Clarissa that took the reins.
“Ghisten. You have been staring at us for some time now.”
The man blinked and looked up. “Er, yes. I’m sorry, I must have—”
“Please, keep staring,” Clarissa quickly said. “Keep looking at our legs.”
And he obeyed without a thought. But as he settled his sights back on their stocking-clad calves, he did find the sense of calm washing upon him somewhat puzzling.
It wasn’t just the shape of their bodies, or the tight, bright fabric hugging the flesh. But it was also the sinusoidal movements of their hands. Gentle caresses.
Up and down.
He heard Clarissa ask, “Do you feel how calm you are? How pleasant this is?”
And he nodded. All of this felt so…
“It’s a familiar sensation, right?”
“Y-yes,” Ghisten nodded.
“Because you have felt this before, many times,” Tamika finally spoke up, working off her cousin’s initiative.
I have…?
It was on the cusp of his thoughts. This smooth, sensual rhythm. Fingers brushing up and down over something nice to look at…
“Remember, Ghisten,” Tamika urged. “Remember. Now .”
A crack leaked in his mind: distant dreams of soothing lust. The crack widened. He recalled silhouettes of the female form, freely presenting themselves for his shameless gaze.
“Yes, I can see it in your eyes,” Clarissa excitedly said. “Remember, Ghisten. Remember what the Sisters have been doing with you!”
Sisters!? Ghisten’s mouth frowned as he tried to recall—
Yevine!
Superimposed upon the cousins’ brightly-colored calves was Sister Yevine’s entrancing bosom, clothed in that familiar dress he unconsciously grew so fond of. And when he felt himself throb , he became mortified.
With a blush, he apologetically began to stammer out nonsense. Tamika did her best to soothe him.
“It’s quite alright, Ghisten. Don’t worry — just focus on the good feelings. Can you do that? The pleasure of just listening and watching? ”
The two women looked upon the man in wonder as he seemed to physically deflate before their eyes: still clearly aroused, but put at ease by the power of their words alone.
“Good. That’s it,” Clarissa began again, uncertain but growing bolder with her tone. “Just sink into that nice docile state. Submit to how nice this is. And let yourself remember. ”
Still, Ghisten felt a piece of himself reel from the revelation. “I don’t understand…”
“Ghisten,” Tamika called out, “Do you enjoy the, um, ‘things’ you are remembering?”
Ghisten hesitated.
“It’s alright,” she tenderly said, “be honest with us. Be honest with yourself.”
Throbbing again, he sighed out a desperate “Yes.”
“You’re doing very well,” Clarissa went on. “And now that you are with us , you won’t have to forget these wonderful things anymore.”
She saw his eyes glass over and felt a spark of excitement. It was working, just as they suspected it would. They were on the verge of making a close ally out of this well-connected, shrewd merchant.
“Just let yourself sink and stare , Ghisten. Just like you’ve done so often with the nuns. But now, you do it with us. ”
Clarissa and Tamika glanced at one another again. They shared a nod. It was time to take Ghisten deeper. Neither had done anything of this sort before; but at the least, Tamika could tell her cousin was brimming with confidence.
“Watch, and enjoy,” the one told him.
“See more of us,” the other said, “and let your thoughts surrender to what you see…”
He felt as though he gazed into a crystal ball, revealing to him all the obscured scenes he was forced to forget. Countless evenings spent blankly staring at one Sister or another — whether it was her entire bare form, her clothed bosom, or even simply her lips and eyes as she spoke — incomprehensible orders fed directly into the core of his mind.
Most of the time his arms hung impotently at his sides while his needy prick twitched and throbbed. But on a few occasions, he would be permitted (directed, rather) to touch . And this would last for — who could say? His hazy recollections could only discern endless drills of edging: reaching the cusp of orgasm, the gentle command to “slow down,” and breathing exercises to descend from the peak, before starting all over again.
And meanwhile, those gentle voices, gestures, and touches of the Sisters would condition his soul into devotion to them. It was no longer about lust or the physiological desire for orgasm. Being used by them was a pleasure in itself.
Ghisten remembered all these wonderful things. He realized how fortunate of a man he was. He was an unscrupulous, two-faced scoundrel of a businessman. For so long, he felt his soul weighed down by a guilty conscience; but now, fully enlightened to his “secret service,” he realized he was absolved. Ghisten was, ultimately, a servant of the Great Mother.
And all this revelation came merely from the shape of the twin sets of calves before him.
Tamika likewise found herself transfixed by Ghisten, though she regarded the kneeling, portly man from a completely different perspective.
She saw his glassy eyes, which stared intently not at her, but at her calves, watching her hem rise as the cousins’ knees waxed into view before him. Little of his former personality was there; rather, he was a partially dismantled automaton, dumbly listening to Clarissa as she gently guided him down into a subservient state, while his sense of sight and feeling were fixated on their bodies.
That was the worst of it, Tamika realized. Though they wielded power of his mind in the moment, how did the man see them? He didn’t — to Ghisten, they were two pairs of shapely calves, hips, and thighs with attached disembodied voices. Idols of worship and beauty. But to the entranced merchant, Tamika ceased to exist.
That lewd bulge of his. It wasn’t for her; but rather, the power her legs held over him. Somehow, that was just as bad as the thought of this unscrupulous fellow lusting directly for her.
“I— I can’t do this,” Tamika stammered, quickly rising. Clarissa shot her a look of frustration. But her expression quickly softened upon seeing her cousin’s flustered visage.
“Alright,” she quickly said, “just go stand over there, okay?”
“Eyes fully on me, Ghisten,” she commanded, returning her direct attention to him. “Cease your recollections of the Sisters. You may keep these memories, but it is now time to serve me . Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You will now bind yourself to our will. And in exchange, you will achieve release . Not only that, you will remember this evening with us — vividly, and forever. Understand?”
“Y-yes…”
“Alright,” Clarissa nodded, at last lifting her hem fully above her knees, “you may touch yourself now.”
Ghisten’s eyes flashed with reverie as his hands snaked into his robe.
“No, stop,” Clarissa commanded. The merchant froze. She cast a look of disgust at him: “I don’t want to see it. Touch yourself through your clothes.”
“Y-yes. I’m sorry, miss,” Ghisten nodded, wrapping his hand around his bulge and eagerly tugging upon it.
“Okay. Good. Does that feel better?” Clarissa asked, turning her nose up at the sight of his self pleasure. He eagerly bobbed his head up and down, his eyes ever-gawking at her stocking-clad legs as he rubbed his shaft, the pleasure dulled by the robe, but still potent upon his denied prick.
Then, she stood. She drew close to him. Ghisten looked down at her feet and ankles. As his head rose, his eyes followed the angle of her calves and the shape of her tibia, up to her kneecaps. He now had to crane his neck upwards to admire the silhouette of her hips, as though studying one of the Cathedral’s effigies.
It was bliss.
“Watch closely, now,” Clarissa said, hooking her fingers fully beneath the hem of her dress.
Ghisten’s eyes widened, discerning the tantalizingly slow upward movement of her hands. Clarissa was lifting her dress further up. He was about to see her bare thighs.
It was rapture .
“As you see more of my legs,” Clarissa instructed, “your devotion to me will deepen, and you will rub yourself faster.”
Ghisten nodded, his pace increasing in analogue with her baring legs.
“I’m going to lift my dress all the way ,” she went on. “Do you know what that means? Do you understand what you will soon see?”
His heavy breathing was all the answer she needed.
“And you won’t be able to take the sight of it, will you? It’ll be too much for your eyes to take.”
She didn’t feel the smile come upon her mouth. But Ghisten discerned it from the edge of his vision. Now, he was outright panting.
“You will break,” she assured, grinning wickedly as more and more of her legs assaulted his sight. “You will lose yourself fully. You shall worship me not only as your mistress, but as your—”
“Clarissa!”
She looked at Tamika. Her cousin’s glare was at once stern and pleading. “You are not yourself,” she admonished. “Don’t allow this bizarre thrill to tempt you to such— such— blasphemy! ”
Clarissa nodded, swallowing and taking a deep breath, reigning herself in. “Right. Sorry,” she told Tamika before returning to Ghisten.
“Alright. It’s time we finish this.”
As her dress rose, so did his eyes widen. And widen. And widen…
“Yes, that’s it,” Clarissa goaded, “go faster, now. Let yourself become lost in rapture to me.”
His painting was entirely vocal. An endless stream of “Ah, ah, ah,” flowed from his dry lips as he fondled himself faster and faster, his wrist cramping from the exertion.
“By the Mother,” Tamika muttered, “enough of this, already!”
“Are you ready?” Clarissa asked, her malice bubbling forth again. “Three…”
Ghisten’s tempo rose in anticipation. “Ah! Ah! Ah!”
“Two… Can you beg for me?”
“Ah~ P-Please!”
“Clarissa!” Tamika admonished again.
“Don’t be so prudish,” she answered back. “See how he enjoys himself? Isn’t this the best , my new little devotee?”
“Yes,” he gasped. “Please. Please…”
“This has gone on enough,” Tamika grumbled, striding forward. Clarissa yelped as her cousin yanked her dress up, showing the pale tops of her thighs, exposing the sight of her briefs for Ghisten. “ One . Finish, Ghsiten — for the love of God, relieve yourself, already!”
The cousins were startled by the bellowing groan Ghisten shouted forth. He bucked his hips as he knelt, shamelessly getting himself off. But Clarissa was determined to have one last spot of fun at his expense.
“Hands off,” she barked, “arms at your sides! Now! Now! ”
And he obeyed, just as he came. His cries of relief grew erratic and dropped several octaves, the release ruined and tainted with denial. But it was supplanted by the exquisite song from Clarissa’s wicked mouth — a shrill laughter. Laughter at him as he ruined his own long-awaited orgasm.
It was invigorating to behold. Tamika, mortified as she was, couldn’t tear her eyes away. It was as if Clarissa’s sense of power channeled by touch into her cousin, giving her the same thrill.
Time stretched in the spectacle. Ghisten felt he twitched and leaked for minutes .
Seeing the merchant and her mischievous cousin were, at last, “finished,” Tamika excused herself to retrieve the “reward.” Casting a side-eye at her as she left the room, Clarissa leered down at her spent and now-enthralled servant.
She reached down and wound her fingers into his hair, pulling him towards her.
“Smell,” she hissed. And he did.
“Again.”
He exhaled quickly and inhaled slowly and fully.
“You will never behold it, let alone touch it,” she jeered, “you don’t deserve it.”
Ghisten nodded.
“But you will obsess over it, won’t you? Dream of it? Yearn of it?”
He nodded again, his eyes fluttering as he breathed her scent in, gazing dreamily at the fabric of her underwear.
“From now on, even the thought of this sight before your eyes will plunge your psyche into—”
Tamika returned. Clarissa instantly hushed herself up at the first hint of her footsteps and shoved her thrall back.
The other cousin stood beside Ghisten. “Stand,” she softly ordered, hooking her hand under his arm and helping him up. “Now, hold out your hand.”
Ghisten obeyed. She placed within his palm a small glass jar with a powder inside. Upon the cork was a burned-in brand: a three-headed ouroboros wound in a triple penrose triangle. It clearly did not belong to the Cousins.
“This is a dried herb powder. It has been doped with a very peculiar essence, to enhance its alchemical properties.”
She paused, looking intently in his eyes, and continued.
“You will give your other masters this treasure. The nuns will be able to discern its true nature. They will reward you for your investigations. Do you understand?”
Ghisten nodded. Tamika saw the person behind his eyes come back to life. His demeanor and gentlemanly tone returned. He curtly bowed his head to the ladies.
“Very well,” he said, “thank you.”
“You’ll visit us again in a week or so?” Tamika asked, relieved to be addressing him with some semblance of normalcy again.
“Yes; but it may be a bit longer. I have a lot of business in the Port City, you see — I…”
“That’s quite alright. Our matters are in order, for now.”
Clarissa remained silent, busy with smoothing over her dress and catching her breath.
The went to fetch his cap, and bowed one last time before heading out of the apothecary. “A pleasure to meet you both.”
As soon as he left, Tamika turned to Clarissa. She glared, but was at a loss for words. Her cousin regarded her with nonchalance.
“Do not judge me,” she told Tamika, “and please, do not judge yourself. We’re merely doing what we must to stay in the market.”
Tamika looked at the floor. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry if I came across as—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Clarissa shrugged. She set a gentle hand upon her cousin’s shoulder. “But do me a favor. If we have to resort to such unscrupulous practices, let’s permit ourselves to enjoy the entertainment, at least?”
“That’s the thing,” Tamika warily sighed. “I think your idea of ‘entertainment’ differs a bit from mine.”