The Price of Power

I’ve always wondered what the Pink Fairy does with all of the intelligence he sucks out to make the sexy bubble butt twinks he makes. Where’s it all go and can he do that to me?

Story Request by @quattuorimmortalem

Wet raindrops whip past your face as you become aware of your surroundings with a start. Cold water splashes against your skin, jolting you to wakefulness. There’s a fog in your head, a fuzziness to your thoughts as you look around you at the gray, lifeless city that stretches out endlessly in every direction.

You are standing at the intersection of two roads that should not exist, staring at the only storefront that seems undamaged, bathed in the too-pink light of a neon sign that you can’t read. Your feet carry you unbidden toward the door as you gawk at the mannequins with their leather harnesses, ball gags, and jock straps.

The bell chimes as your arms move of their own accord to push the door open. And a rush of warm air greets you as you step into the room, suddenly bone dry despite being drenched in rain mere moments ago. The smell of leather, latex, sweat, and sex assaults your nose and instead of finding it disgusting you find it intoxicating. It makes the fog in your head pulse and thicken, making a warm giddiness settle over your body.

A twink in pink steps out from between one of the shelves of sex toys and approaches you with a sway in his step. He smiles as he reaches out and caresses the side of your face. He tells you that you have beautiful eyes, and a very beautiful mind. It makes you blush. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you follow him like a lost puppy as he beckons you deeper into the store.

He tells you that he heard your question, and your plea. He tells you that normally this is not information that he shares with anyone, but adds that since you won’t hold on to it for very long, anyway, he’s more than happy to tell you where the intelligence goes.

He explains to you that all magic comes with a price, one that the caster must pay. He tells you that magic is a business, and that the intelligence he drains is in fact split a number of ways. He tells you that a good bulk of it is used to power the magic that transforms the people that come to him, so that he doesn’t have to pay the price. Then, he tells you that some of it is considered "profit." That is, intelligence that is taken for the benefit of the caster, rather than to pay some sort of outstanding magical debt.

He explains that back in the old days, people would pay with blood, or with lives, but that those practices aren’t really considered acceptable in modern society. He says that the only sacrifices that are of equivalent value in the modern day are intelligence, memories, and dreams and ambitions. Those sacrifices are the ones that generate the most amount of power.

He says that that is why he is one of the most powerful entities in the universe, because the others insist on more substantial sacrifices like blood, or limbs, or lives. His way of obtaining sacrifices not only gains him power directly, but also creates followers who continue to feed his might by participating in debauchery.

He asks if you’re willing to give up a little intelligence for a bit of a demonstration. You agree. You feel the cloud in your head thicken even more. With a flourish, the twink in pink produces what appears to be an arrow with a silver head, only the tip is dripping a slick white fluid that is unmistakably cum.

The twink in pink conjures a bow and promptly shoots you with the arrow. You brace for the pain, but it never comes. Instead, lust the likes of which you’ve never experienced before slams into you.

The twink in pink tells you that it’s been fun, but that it’s time for you to get your wish. With the snap of his fingers you feel everything being drained from your head, your memories, your knowledge, your dreams and ambitions. Only lust. And cock. And cum are left behind.

You moan and groan as you feel your body changing. Becoming smaller. Lighter. More compact. The only part of you that gets bigger is your ass. Which you instinctively shake.

The next time you open your eyes, you’re somewhere else entirely, with nary a memory of who you are, or where you’ve been. The only thing you know is that there is music playing, a crowd that’s watching expectantly, and men who would be more than happy to take you out back and have their way with you when you’re done performing.

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