Patient Zero: A Sex Magic Short

Patient Zero
G. F. Savidge

After we’d passed through the third set of locked and bolted, six-inch steel blast doors, I reckoned the General and I were a good quarter mile inside the mountain.

“Isn’t this overkill?” I asked. “What the hell kind of thing are you keeping in here?”

The General’s expression became even more humorless. “It’s a woman and it’s not overkill. If it were up to me, we’d have disposed of her months ago.” He spat on the white-painted concrete floor of the tunnel. “They want to see if she can be weaponized.”

The final set of doors opened into a large room: a combination laboratory and prison. A jumbled collection of every type of scanner I was familiar with, and more than a few I wasn’t, was arrayed around a Plexiglas cell shot through with metal wires. Soldiers stood on guard, technicians and scientists manned their stations or scurried too and fro. Without exception, they were all women. The General and I were the only men in the room.

The prisoner was an attractive young woman in her early to mid-twenties. Without makeup, dressed in a shapeless jumpsuit, it took a few moments to recognize her.

“Mandi McClure? Your dangerous prisoner is a swimsuit model?”




“You’re familiar with her work?”

I blushed. “I’ve seen pictures.”

“This is a deadly serious question and I need you to answer honestly: have you ever masturbated to images of this woman?”

“What?”

“Answer the damn question.”

“No,” I lied. “I’ve never jerked off to Mandi McClure.”

It was hard to square her current appearance with her most recent swimsuit calendar. There was one month’s picture that got me every time. It wasn’t the most revealing, or the most overtly sexual, but Mandi’s expression of confidence and power was intoxicating. It was as if her big green eyes looked out of the paper straight into my soul. There was nothing I wouldn’t have done to be close to her in real life, and now I had my chance.

A short, red-haired woman in a lab coat stormed over. “What the hell, General? No males in the isolation lab: you know that.”

The General ignored the woman’s protests. “Doctor Prince. This is Professor Morse, from Bainbridge College.”

Doctor Prince made no attempt to disguise the sneer on her face or the disgust in her voice. “Bainbridge? Were the carnival freaks busy or did they turn you down?”

I held out my hand. “It’s good to meet you too, Doctor Prince. I don’t know why I’m here either.”

She ignored my hand, and my conciliatory words. “I don’t want you in my lab. You’re a risk, as long as that—” she pointed at Mandi in her transparent cell— ”is here.”

“You need Professor Morse’s expertise,” said the General. “He’s a leading authority on magic and possession.”

“Magic.” Doctor Prince spat the word like a curse.

“I’ll leave you to it,” said the General. “One of the guards will take you to your quarters when you’re ready. Doctor Prince, please give the Professor your full cooperation. We’re on the same team.”

I looked over Prince’s shoulder at Mandi McClure. She was watching us with interest. She met my gaze and winked. A jolt of arousal stopped my breath for a moment.

“I remember you.” The voice appeared in my head without going through my ears. “June is your favorite.” The image of that month’s photo floated across my mind. “We could do so much together if you’re good.”



Travel had caught up with me. I’d been drafted — or whatever this was — and brought to a mystery facility in the heart of a mountain. The woman I was supposed to work with hated me, and I was hallucinating the prisoner at the heart of the matter. I rubbed my eyes and wondered what was going on.

“Please, Doctor Prince. The sooner you brief me, the sooner I can persuade the General there’s no reason for me to be here, and the sooner I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Doctor Prince led me to a small cubicle on one side of the lab. Her desk was scattered with papers, charts, and tablet computers. The unmistakable smell of stale pizza wafted from the trash can.

“It’s not magic,” she said. “I don’t care what some of my junior colleagues say. There’s a rational, scientific explanation.”

I held my hands up in mock surrender. “Magic is an extraordinary claim and it requires extraordinary proof. It’s never my first resort. So, why has the military buried a swimsuit model inside a mountain?”

“Because they’re afraid. Watch this.”

She passed me a tablet and queued up a video. It showed the lab, abandoned apart from Mandi McClure in her Plexiglas cell and two young guards — both men. The guards were solid, but obviously bored.

One of them broke the silence with a low moan. He gasped and twitched.

“What’s up?” asked the other guard. Then, he too began to gasp.

The fronts of their pants tented over rock-hard erections. “Oh god,” they moaned, in near-unison.

They dropped to their knees and arched, thrusting their crotches directly towards the woman in the center of the room. “Please,” begged one of them. “Please.”

“Please, what?” asked McClure. “What do you want me to do for you, boys?”

“Let me come,” said the other guard. “I need to come.”

I paused the video.

“What do the men claim they experienced?”

“They said it was like the best, most intense blow job they’d ever had. Except, they couldn’t orgasm. They also said it went on for hours but the tape shows it was only a few minutes.”

I resumed the video. The guards squirmed, twitched, and thrust at the air. They pleaded with Mandi McClure to be allowed relief. She stood with hands on her hips, watching them with an amused expression.

“If I let you come,” she asked, “what are you willing to do for me?”

“Anything!” screamed the guards, in unison.

“How about… The first one of you to get me out of this cage gets to have an orgasm?”

The two men probably broke land-speed records as they scrambled for the Plexiglas enclosure. They smashed their fists uselessly against her cell.

“Use your guns, you idiots.”

Before the guards could fetch their weapons, the doors to the lab opened and more soldiers — female ones — swarmed in to disarm and capture the men.

The video stopped.

“This was a test,” said Doctor Prince. “Their guns weren’t loaded, of course.”

“And it’s more than just a couple of horny young men a long way from home face to face with one of the sexiest women in the country?”

“Not according to them. She was in their heads, she controlled their cocks, she was able to tease them from across the room. You really think she’s sexy?”

“According to the men’s magazines, I mean.”

“Of course. Look, we don’t know how her powers work or what their range is. I don’t like having men in here, because they might be susceptible to her influence. The most vulnerable are those sad sacks who’ve masturbated to pictures of her in the past. It’s like it gives her a fast track to their sexual psyche.”

I said nothing and hoped my face didn’t betray the fact I was one of the “sad sacks” who’d jerked off to Mandi McClure on many occasions.

Doctor Prince queued up another video. “Exhibit two: this poor guy was Mandi McClure’s personal assistant. I guess he brought her coffee five minutes late or something.”

The video showed a young man, naked and strapped to a hospital bed. He had the weak muscle tone and gray complexion of the long-term sick. By contrast, his cock was robustly — hugely — erect. Every thirty seconds he screamed as a massive orgasm ripped through his body, sending a fountain of semen soaring into the air. His erection didn’t fade after each ejaculation, but stayed hard until the next eruption.

“Twice a minute, twenty-four hours a day, he has an orgasm. His cock is in a state of constant stimulation by what he describes as half a dozen phantom pussies enthusiastically fucking him. His balls produce semen at an accelerated rate to feed his continual ejaculations.”

“She did this to him?”

Prince nodded. “He hasn’t slept in six months.”

“Not possible. He should be dead.”

“None of this is possible. He may not look it, but he’s surprisingly healthy.” She passed me a manila folder stamped TOP SECRET. “Exhibit three isn’t as visually interesting. Her ex-boyfriend.”

I skimmed through the medical reports inside the folder. “He’s unable to orgasm? And he blames her? That could be the side effect of drugs or alcohol.”

“It could, except there’s nothing else wrong with him other than his inability to orgasm. He can achieve an erection, respond to sexual stimulation, and he can get right to the edge of release.”

I tented my hands in front of my mouth. “She’s responsible for this as well?”

“She told him she was.”

“I need to think about this.”

“I’ll have one of the guards escort you to your room.”

After a light meal in the commissary, I settled into the spartan quarters assigned to me. The room smelled both sterile and musty — the result of air that had been recirculated a hundred times, I imagined. I had a narrow, metal-framed bed which looked as comfortable as a pile of rocks.

There was a rugged gray laptop with Internet access on the small corner desk. I was sure every keystroke and search would be recorded and examined, but I didn’t care. Despite myself, I was intrigued by the mystery of the woman who could control men’s sexual impulses from a distance and across time.

The texts I would have normally consulted were two thousand miles away in my library, but I was sure they would have told me nothing. If Mandi McClure’s powers were as described, they were unlike anything in recorded history. Under other circumstances, I would have suspected her of faking her powers, but surely the military scientists would have seen through that by now. How could one fake a case of permanent ejaculation?

I did some rough calculations and didn’t like the results.

There was a knock at the door.

“Do you mind if I come in?” asked Doctor Prince. Without her lab coat, outside of the sterile confines of her lab, she was a strikingly attractive woman. She had dark red hair cut in a severe bob, big hazel eyes set in a pleasant face which alternated between seriousness and enthusiasm between moments, and wide lips. She was only a few inches shorter than me, with a lithe figure which spoke to a great metabolism or a serious gym fetish. She was dressed in skinny jeans and a black tank top over a purple sports bra. She yawned and raised her arms, exposing a flat, toned midriff.

“Of course, Doctor Prince.” I ushered her into the small space. “What can I do for you?”

“Please, call me Samantha,” she said. “We’re off the clock.”

“As you wish, Samantha.”

I sat on the bed, expecting her to take the one chair, but she sat next to me, close enough for our hips to touch. I felt a tingle of attraction and arousal, which I bit down on. The last thing I needed was to get in trouble with the military for hitting on one of their scientists.

Samantha brushed her hair aside. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry if I seemed hostile.”

“To me, or to the idea of magic?”

“Either. Both. I’m as frustrated as the General at not being able to explain Mandi’s powers. I shouldn’t take it out on you, just because—”

“I’m a charlatan from a third-rate college?”

She laughed. “Your words. Seriously, though. We need all the help we can get.” She looked into my eyes with interest — merely professional or something more? My heart beat a little faster. “I think we could have a fruitful relationship.”

I swallowed and tried hard not to think how long it had been since I’d had sex.

“So,” she said. “What do you make of our prisoner?”

“Too soon to say.”

She leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “You lied to the General, didn’t you? You’ve jerked off to pictures of Mandi McClure hundreds of times.”

“What are you-”

“Your browser history tells no lies.”

“Fuck. Have you told the General?”

She ran a finger over my lips. “Are you being shoved into the cargo hold of a CIA plane bound for a secret prison? No. I like to have leverage over the people I work with. I find it helps to ensure… compliance.”

I swallowed. Her proximity, looks, and dominant attitude were an aphrodisiac. From my point of view, I could see straight down the front of her top, past the cleft of cleavage to her flat stomach. I could only imagine the delights which lay beyond.

I shook my head. “I’m worried.” I needed to get the discussion back on safer ground — work — to relieve my growing arousal. I didn’t want Doctor Prince to see the bulge in my pants, to know how much under her spell I was. “This isn’t like any form of magic I’ve studied.”

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Magic is about balancing forces. Just as in science, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Any magical effect has to be the result of study, sacrifice, and focus. I don’t see any evidence of any of those from Mandi.

Unconsciously, I’d switched into lecture mode. “Causing a man to continuously orgasm is something that should require intense concentration and effort to maintain, but she tossed it off like it was nothing. It’s the magical equivalent of a perpetual motion machine: impossible.”

For the first time, she seemed engaged with me on an intellectual level. “Most so-called perpetual motion machines have an outside source of energy: they’re not closed systems.”

“Exactly! The magical energy has to come from somewhere and if it’s not from within Mandi, where is it coming from?”

She put her hand on my crotch and idly rubbed a fingertip over the growing bulge. “Lust?” she asked. “Maybe her magic is powered by the arousal she causes in men. Isn’t that how sex magic is traditionally supposed to work.”

“Not my specialty but — oh!” A shiver of arousal ran through my body from the tip of her finger on my khaki and cotton-clad cock.

“You like that thought?” she asked. “Woman using men’s lustful urges against them?”

“Please, Doctor Prince. I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“I told you to call me Samantha, you naughty man.”

“Samantha. Of course. Lust energy could explain part of it, but her spells still need something else: a spark to get them going. My concern is that Mandi is being used as a conduit for a more powerful entity.”

“Possession? Goddamnit, you almost had me believing you might know something useful.”

She took her hand away from my cock and made to leave.

“Look, Samantha. If I’m right, the General has it all wrong. The risk isn’t that she’ll control men in the lab, it’s that she’ll infect the women. If there is something controlling Mandi’s magic, it will be looking to increase the number of hosts. It wants to spread like a disease.”

“Until every woman has the power to control any man? Would that be so bad?”

“It could mean the end of the world.”

She snorted, then leaned over and kissed me for a full minute. She explored my mouth with her tongue like a conquering army. The erection which had started to fade when she’d taken her hand away returned with a vengeance.

“Would you like me to stay?” she asked.

“Yes please.”

“Too bad. Maybe if you hadn’t kept talking about Mandi McClure while I was massaging your cock I’d have considered it. As it is: good night, Professor.”

She left.

My conversation with Doctor Prince — Samantha — left me horny and frustrated, compounding what I already felt from the vivid imagery of Mandi McClure’s swimsuit calendar in my mind. I didn’t want to risk looking up pictures of Mandi on the Internet via the military laptop. There was no need in any case: my mental pictures were incredibly clear and higher definition than the little gray computer could have delivered.

I thought about the scant bikini she’d worn for May, and her leaning forward, “fuck me” pose. The semi-erection Samantha had left me with blossomed to full hardness.




I lay on the narrow cot and stared at the metal beams. I masturbated with furious intensity, alternating between images of Mandi and Samantha. The tight jeans Doctor Prince had worn, and the way they clung to her small, beautifully taut butt, undulating as I’d watched her walk away, were burned into my memory. On Mandi’s side, the valley of cleavage between her large breasts as she leaned toward the camera and nailed me with that million dollar gaze, made my heart leap with lust.

The point of no return arrived in barely a minute, but to my astonishment, I didn’t orgasm. Instead, my rapid strokes pushed me across a pair of razor-sharp edges. I bucked, tried not to moan, and quivered from head to toe as I continued to wank. After my fourth hard edge, the most frustrating sensation I’d ever felt, I realized the truth: Mandi McClure had placed one of her damn orgasm blocks on me. Whatever efforts they’d made to contain her abilities within her Plexiglas prison had failed.

In the short period of time I’d been in the lab, and without any apparent effort or focus on her part, she’d removed my ability to orgasm. I panicked. Was it permanent? Could she even remove the block, if I could somehow persuade her — begged her — to?

Ironically, knowing I couldn’t orgasm made it seem like the most important thing in the world to me. As I lay there, angry and frustrated, plotting how to get my orgasms back, I wanked myself to the edge every few minutes and kept going long enough to confirm the block still held.

My mental pictures of Mandi became more vivid as I obsessed on her as the source of my new handicap. Exhausted, I fell asleep with one hand wrapped around my rock-hard cock.

Doctor Prince was with me in my dream. I lay in the same position, but on a luxurious king bed instead of a narrow steel cot. I was on soft cotton sheets instead of the rough green blanket I’d left behind in the real world. Samantha gently uncurled my fingers from my cock.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she said. “Your hand is too rough.”

She moved down the bed and took me into her warm mouth. She traced the tip of her tongue over the end of my cock with a strong technique which left me with no illusion about who was in charge. It was also tender and exhilarating. Her eager blow job soon brought me to the point of climax but if I’d hoped the orgasm block didn’t hold in my dreams, I was sorely — and frustratingly — disappointed.

I screamed in dismay as she blew me to a rapid series of diamond-hard edges, each more exasperating than the one before. What the hell would it take to break through Mandi’s orgasm block and blow my load into this lovely woman’s mouth?

“Please stop. I can’t take this anymore.”

She ignored my pleas and kept sucking and licking my increasingly tender member. I wept in frustrated arousal as the edges kept ripping through me from cock to head.

“She’s good, isn’t she?”

Mandi McClure appeared beside us. She wore the same monokini as in the July page of her swimsuit calendar: two thin straps crossed across her breasts. She lay on her side and watched Samantha with interest.



“Please, make her stop.”

“Not until you admit you love it,” said Mandi.

“I love this!” I screamed.

Mandi raised herself on one arm and kissed me, infiltrating my mouth with her eager tongue. The kiss was over too soon.

“Admit it and mean it,” she said. “Don’t just say what you think I want to hear.”

I bellowed as Samantha flicked her tongue across the tip of my cock and brought me to a staccato chain of stymied orgasms.

“What do you want from me?” I asked.

“You like her, don’t you?”

“Yeah, she’s cute.”

Mandi laughed. “Cute? She’s hot! And smart. And she can make you cry with lust. What more do you want?”

“To fucking orgasm!”

“Men! You’re all the same. Obsessed with spilling your vile seed across the face of the Earth. Do you know how many men jerk off to pictures of me every hour of every day, spurting their white goo at the altar of my tits?”

“Hundreds?”

“Tens of thousands. And that’s a bad day.”

“Look, I’m sorry men are pigs, but can I please come? This is driving me crazy.”

Mandi laughed. “It’s supposed to. Now, admit you want to get with Doctor Prince almost as much as you want to get with me. More.”

“I-”

“And mean it!” she interrupted.

Samantha stopped her mind-blowing, sanity-destroying blow job. She looked up and smiled. “What’s not to love?” she asked, then blinked out of existence.

She reappeared in mid-air, floating above the end of the bed, dressed in a tight sports bra and a pair of slight workout shorts. She spun slowly to give me a 360-degree view. Her butt was even more breathtaking when clad in hight-cut, tight black Lycra. I imagined burying my face between those cheeks and twitched as I brought myself to another edge with only my sexual imagination.



“Isn’t she something?” asked Mandi. “Look at her and don’t look away. If you take your eyes off her for a second, I’ll fix it so you never have another orgasm for as long as you live.

I did as I was told. While I stared at Samantha, she moved through a series of yoga poses.

“Look how flexible she is,” said Mandi. “Imagine that lithe little body wrapped around your cock.” Mandi straddled me, pulled down her red bikini bottoms, and took me deep inside her. “Don’t look at me, remember.”

Out of the corner of one eye, I saw Mandi remove her bikini top. I wanted to feast my eyes on the glory of her naked tits, but under threat of permanent orgasm denial, I kept my gaze fixated on Doctor Prince.

Sheer panels appeared on Samantha’s workout outfit, each revealing a little more of her toned flesh. Her breasts weren’t as large as Mandi’s but they were firm and high on her chest. Soon her bra and shorts were little more than three small patches of fabric covering her nipples and pussy, held in place by netting. She blew me a kiss.

The dream felt as real as if I were experiencing these events. The only things which clued me into its fantastical nature were the unfamiliar bed and Samantha floating in thin air.

There was a strange transference of lustful feelings. As Mandi fucked me, I began to associate the pleasure of her tight, warm pussy with the sight of Doctor Prince, held before me like a Lycra-swaddled treat. I reached the edge of orgasm, but I wished it was Samantha fucking me instead of the world-famous swimsuit model I’d lusted after for years. I wouldn’t have believed it, but I wanted the slender, brilliant scientist more than the parcel of pure sex who straddled me.

“I want Doctor Prince,” I shouted. “I want Samantha Prince so much it hurts not to have her.”

“Good boy,” said Mandi and disappeared.

A naked Samantha took her place on top of me. Her fit body was wrapped around me like one of her sports bras, fucking me hard and fast with her tight, so gloriously tight, pussy. I reached the edge of climax and to my surprise, the orgasm block no longer stood in my way. Just as I began to come, I woke up.

“Fuck!” I shouted.

As my nocturnal emission dribbled from the end of my cock — the orgasm thoroughly ruined by the cruel logic of the wet dream — I realized I wasn’t alone in the room. Doctor Prince stood at the end of the bed, watching with clinical interest as my semen spilled over the rough green blankets.

“Fascinating,” she said. “I take it Mandi McClure visited you in your dreams.”

“Not just her.”

Samantha gasped and doubled over. A bright glow of orange flame engulfed her entire body. I had to look away until it abated. When I looked back, her eyes were wide and hungry.

“Oh my,” she said. “Wow.”

She glanced at my now-flaccid cock. “Oh no, that won’t do at all.”

In a moment, I sprang back to full erection. I felt the sensation of a lusty blow job — the same powerful but tender technique I’d experienced from Doctor Prince in my dream. I came so hard, semen spurted three feet from the tip of my cock into the air. A few minutes later, I came again. Then again and again. Under relentless assault from a phantasmal tongue of exquisite effect, I continued to climax over and over until I was dry. Even that was no mercy: my crotched bucked through another four arid, as painful as they were joyful, orgasms.

“She passed her abilities onto me via shared lust,” said Doctor Prince. “Amazing.”

Realization hit me as hard as one of my dry climaxes. “This isn’t Mandi: you’re doing this!”

“So it would appear, Professor. Whatever this “sex magic” is, Mandi isn’t the only one who wields it now. If you tell the General or anyone else, I’ll shut off your orgasms and curse you with permanent edging for the rest of your life.”

“You don’t have to threaten me.”

She laughed. “Right, I forgot. You want me more than you want Mandi.”

How had she known about what had happened in my dream? Was that how Mandi had infected her with sex magic? She’d taken over my dreams, linked herself and Doctor Prince via my lust, and used me as a conduit.

“Do you still want me now you know what I can do to you?” she asked.

I examined my feelings about what I’d been through since meeting Mandi and Samantha. “I want you even more now.” I meant it. The idea of being with a woman who was not only beautiful and brilliant but could also take total control of my cock with her mind was intoxicating.

“You do, don’t you? I can sense it, along with every other sexual thought in your mind. You want to bury your face in my ass, eh? Oh, I plan to bury your face all kinds of places, you dirty little slut. Now, let’s see if your tongue can be of any use to me.”

She disrobed. “On your back, Toy. That’s what I call you from now on since you’re going to be my obedient, helpless little sex toy.” She paused. “Do you think all this sexual power has gone to my head?”

“No.”

“Good boy,” she said. Her words echoed the last thing Mandi McClure had said to me in the dream. “But I think you should call me Mistress Samantha from now on, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, Mistress Samantha.”

As Doctor Prince — Mistress Samantha — lowered her glistening pussy onto my eager mouth, I considered the implications of sex magic being contagious. How long would it take until every woman in the world had the same abilities? Would some be more or less skilled with it? How would society change when women were all-powerful and men were entirely at their mercy?

I lapped gently at Mistress Samantha’s clit. She tightened her thighs around my head and pushed down on me until I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to breathe. Somehow, air reached my lungs. Was she able to protect me from suffocation with her magic?

“Stop thinking so hard,” she commanded. “You’re going to give me a headache. I’ll figure out the truth about sex magic: you just concentrate on keeping me satisfied. Your future orgasms depend on it.”

I had a partial answer. Women like Mandi and Samantha would rule and men would serve. If men resisted or even hesitated to obey, they would be punished in the deliciously evil ways only sex magic made possible.

Part of me still worried where the magic had come from, but as I ate Mistress Samantha to her third orgasm, I began to focus on what was truly important: her pussy. Would she ever let me have an orgasm of my own again? Did it even matter?

No comments:

Post a Comment