Purest of Intentions
Copyright © Emmi Lawrence
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author.
His intentions had been pure back when he’d first announced his decision to become a scryer. His vision had been all about becoming a spy for the Imperial Militia. One of those dreams that he didn’t exactly know how to achieve, but dreamed about regardless all through his childhood and into adolescence. For years, he applied himself to his studies, gaining a solid reputation with his teachers for doing good, though not outstanding, work.
However, when time came to apply for a position, he’d fallen short. By just a smidge. An unfortunate smidge that had all the blood rushing straight to his teenaged, over-responsive cock.
The test had been to scry into a warded, iron-locked chamber. A proxy room deep inside a building on the other side of the city. He’d found a warded room all right. The scrying bowl he’d been using rippling as he circumvented the wards and opened up the inner vision.
And there, for the administrators of the interview to see, were two women. One of Hartia descent, pale and red-haired. The other thin-faced with golden tresses down to her knees. And their hair had been all they wore as they writhed on a grand four-poster bed, a breeze fluttering gossamer curtains.
Needless to say, he lost that job. When word went out, the administrators nothing but gossips, he couldn’t get another interview, his applications passed over, likely with snickers and rolled eyes.
So yes, he hadn’t meant to become a pervert. But when one has been trained as a ward-breaking scryer with no job opportunities…
Well, suffice it to say one becomes quite good at jacking off while keeping a scry held steady and strong. And not just steady and strong.
He learned how to alter angles mid-scry, panning the vision over the gorgeous round ass of the ginger as she bent to lick the blonde’s clit. He learned how to zoom so he could watch the blonde’s breasts shiver and shake as the ginger rode her with an intricate strap-on. He discovered he could amplify the sound, letting the women’s moans fill his bedroom and swell his cock as they fingered each other upon that decadent bed.
In fact, he learned how to keep a constant minimal scry going using little enough thought at the back of his mind so that he could catch the women together.
His scrying abilities went from good to that outstanding he’d never quite achieved in classes. So good, he could expand the vision from his scrying tools, utilizing his entire room until the women were life-size, their bed settling over his own so that he could place his cock within them, imagine it was his own flesh they licked and sucked before he spurted against his bedding.
They noticed at times. Glancing over their shoulders as if they felt him watching. Double-checking that no one was at their window. So he began to practice being an unfelt presence, a skill-set that didn’t come easily or naturally, but was worth not having the irritating interruptions as he pretended to run his cock along the ginger’s spread inner thighs.
He hadn’t meant to become a pervert.
And yet, less than a year later, he altered his resume, resent applications, landed a coveted interview that led to his dream job. He spied for the Militia. Unseen, unfelt, able to amplify conversations and expand visions. He held open scrys to enemy conference rooms for days on end and reported on movements no one else discovered.
He became an asset to the Empire. An asset who couldn’t afford to be caught spying on two high-class women within the privacy of their bedroom. Not when it could lose him everything he’d wanted.
He still visited occasionally during that first year or two, nostalgia drawing him back. His cock begging him to stay until he’d squeezed his eyes shut and coated his hand with semen.
But rarely. A fixation that faded from his life as life intervened with reality. The reality of being old enough to know better, old enough to finally give them the privacy they deserved. Reality that gave him flesh and blood women instead of visions of ones who were far too caught up with each other to ever pay him any heed.
He hadn’t meant to become a pervert, but neither could he wish that part of his life away.