Log inLimewah's Hypnovember 2025
Day 11 - Caress (Ten-Ka)
"A mind brimming with knowledge, a prodigious intellect… best to nip this in the bud before he starts to think it rivals mine."
The darkness clings to you, wrapped around you like a tight sheet.
It's a familiar, comforting darkness.
It must be night-time.
You can just close your eyes and go back to sleep. You're fine. You can go back to sleep, little bird…
No, wait.
What's that voice in your head?
It's not your own, that's for damn sure…
It has the hallmarks of a magically synthesised voice - a slight tinny sound to it, like it's being spoken through a tube made of copper.
A simulacrum of your voice, an attempt to hijack your thoughts that… might have fooled someone else, maybe, but not you.
The darkness, though…
You don't know if it is day or night. Something's around your face, stopping any light from reaching your eyes.
You go to remove it, but - Blast. Your winged arms are pinned behind your back, held tight by a bond. Whatever hood is around your head has a little strap around the beak to keep yours closed. You can't cast a spell just through thought alone; you're not that good of a mage, even with all the study you've crammed into your head.
All the more reason to work towards that goal once you've gotten out of here…
If you can get out of-
It's a familiar, comforting darkness.
It must be night-time.
You can just close your eyes and go back to sleep. You're fine. You can go back to sleep, little bird…
No, wait.
What's that voice in your head?
It's not your own, that's for damn sure…
It has the hallmarks of a magically synthesised voice - a slight tinny sound to it, like it's being spoken through a tube made of copper.
A simulacrum of your voice, an attempt to hijack your thoughts that… might have fooled someone else, maybe, but not you.
The darkness, though…
You don't know if it is day or night. Something's around your face, stopping any light from reaching your eyes.
You go to remove it, but - Blast. Your winged arms are pinned behind your back, held tight by a bond. Whatever hood is around your head has a little strap around the beak to keep yours closed. You can't cast a spell just through thought alone; you're not that good of a mage, even with all the study you've crammed into your head.
All the more reason to work towards that goal once you've gotten out of here…
If you can get out of-
Of course you can.
Stay calm. Focus. You can't see anything but darkness, you can't hear anything but the rush of blood and the beat of your heart…
How did you get here? Think, Ten. Ignore the darkness before your eyes, and find the images inside your memory…
You were… in your private study. Yes. You had borrowed some books from the university library. You remember the must of old paper and glue, your feather-fingers carefully leafing through an old tome with time-yellowed pages.
Was there a knock at the door?
Did someone else come into the room?
Your head isn't hurting, so you mustn't have been knocked unconscious… you feel comfortably sluggish. A sleep-spell, maybe…?
Yes, you do remember someone, something entering, but the memory only gets foggier the more you think. The vague, unreliable picture of your study blurs and melts, as does the approaching shape, and the dark thing in one hand… but not the glimmering gem in the other. A spellcasting focus… no, a pendulum, swaying, swinging, and you found yourself fixating on it… your quill twirling out from between your fingers and clattering onto the desk… your body shifting on the stool to face towards it… watching it get closer and closer until…
Stay calm. Focus. You can't see anything but darkness, you can't hear anything but the rush of blood and the beat of your heart…
How did you get here? Think, Ten. Ignore the darkness before your eyes, and find the images inside your memory…
You were… in your private study. Yes. You had borrowed some books from the university library. You remember the must of old paper and glue, your feather-fingers carefully leafing through an old tome with time-yellowed pages.
Was there a knock at the door?
Did someone else come into the room?
Your head isn't hurting, so you mustn't have been knocked unconscious… you feel comfortably sluggish. A sleep-spell, maybe…?
Yes, you do remember someone, something entering, but the memory only gets foggier the more you think. The vague, unreliable picture of your study blurs and melts, as does the approaching shape, and the dark thing in one hand… but not the glimmering gem in the other. A spellcasting focus… no, a pendulum, swaying, swinging, and you found yourself fixating on it… your quill twirling out from between your fingers and clattering onto the desk… your body shifting on the stool to face towards it… watching it get closer and closer until…
Until you allowed yourself to relax and give in, and let night come. It must be night-time, so why don't you go back to sleep. You must be so tired…
Not falling for that one.
Clearly they underestimate you if they think that you can be this easily manipulated..
Clearly they underestimate you if they think that you can be this easily manipulated..
But as the voice that's not your voice speaks, the darkness pushes inwards around your head. It's not a firm squeeze… in fact, it's quite gentle. The material is soft, squishy, like a downy mattress, and as it pushes in, you feel this warmth pushing through your golden down, into your head. It starts at the crown and moves down, its little pinpricks of movement gently pushing into the back of your neck. The massage ripples back up to the top of your head and traces little circles. Like dozens of small fingers gently working your scalp.
It is… kind of soothing.
Your already slow heartbeat is getting slower. You feel comfortable. The bonds feel far less constraining when you relax into them. When you allow yourself to be constrained.
Isn't this nicer? Isn't this easier? Just relax and let it happen, let the night come… it must be night-time, so why don't you go back to sleep. You must be-
It is… kind of soothing.
Your already slow heartbeat is getting slower. You feel comfortable. The bonds feel far less constraining when you relax into them. When you allow yourself to be constrained.
Isn't this nicer? Isn't this easier? Just relax and let it happen, let the night come… it must be night-time, so why don't you go back to sleep. You must be-
No. Quiet that thought. Ignore it. Focus on your heartbeat, your bloodflow, and your breathing. Focus on the bonds constraining you and caressing you… the restraints feel sort of gentle, and you can feel them moving against your wrists, warm and soft just like the hood hugging your head… more little fingers kneading and rubbing and finding all those knots you didn't even know you had…
Ghhh. Whoever enchanted these restraints knows what they're doing…
They squeeze tighter in response to your attempts to move, stronger than a finger trap.
They squeeze tighter in response to your attempts to move, stronger than a finger trap.
You don't know how far your hearing can carry, stymied as it is by the hood, and distracted as you are by that repetitive, gentle massage... But you can hear the sound of a distant door creaking. Footfalls. Quiet voices.
You feel warm presences around you too, someone invading your personal space…
You feel warm presences around you too, someone invading your personal space…
A finger prods into the back of your neck, and you instantly freeze up.
"I believe he is awake now, yes…"
It pinches the back of your neck and slides downwards just enough to find your shoulder muscles… before digging in to those hard, tense muscles and…. nngnh, fuck that's good…
The voices only barely penetrate through the hood's thick material, and you really have to strain just to follow the conversation, especially when your awareness is concentrating on the massaging hood and the kneading fingers…
"He hasn't managed to escape, I see."
"I'd like to see him try, Arch-Lecturer. Those bonds won't break unless I break the spell."
An older voice, low and sonorous, comes from just behind you. Claws gently stroke along your chin and throat.
It pinches the back of your neck and slides downwards just enough to find your shoulder muscles… before digging in to those hard, tense muscles and…. nngnh, fuck that's good…
The voices only barely penetrate through the hood's thick material, and you really have to strain just to follow the conversation, especially when your awareness is concentrating on the massaging hood and the kneading fingers…
"He hasn't managed to escape, I see."
"I'd like to see him try, Arch-Lecturer. Those bonds won't break unless I break the spell."
An older voice, low and sonorous, comes from just behind you. Claws gently stroke along your chin and throat.
"Such a pretty little cockatiel. Far much prettier without that back-talk of his. Ten didn't give you any trouble, did he?"
Another voice. Lighter, more nervous.
"No, Arch-Lecturer."
"Mm… yes." You feel talons sliding along the back of your head. The hood hugs too, as if in response. "A mind brimming with knowledge, a prodigious intellect… best to nip this in the bud before he starts to think it rivals mine."
"That's what this is about? I thought this was just for the usual extraction…"
"Well, I've got a slightly personal stake in this one."
That's… familiar…
Yes, these voices, you've heard them before, haven't you…? The voice behind you, you've spoken with them before. It's on the tip of your tongue… is it-
Another voice. Lighter, more nervous.
"No, Arch-Lecturer."
"Mm… yes." You feel talons sliding along the back of your head. The hood hugs too, as if in response. "A mind brimming with knowledge, a prodigious intellect… best to nip this in the bud before he starts to think it rivals mine."
"That's what this is about? I thought this was just for the usual extraction…"
"Well, I've got a slightly personal stake in this one."
That's… familiar…
Yes, these voices, you've heard them before, haven't you…? The voice behind you, you've spoken with them before. It's on the tip of your tongue… is it-
The hood caresses your head again. A choked chirp involuntarily slips from your throat as your body twitches in place. It feels… so good…
What were you thinking about…?
You can feel your brain pickling from the massage, the simple tingly pleasure of the massage…
A thick, rough paw rests on your chest, then slides slowly down to rest on your stomach. Your body involuntarily pushes towards the sensation rather than shying away. And the claws continue to stroke. They trace shapes and spirals, lines and curls… runes? They feel familiar, you can picture them in your mind, but you're having trouble piecing them together or remembering what they might mean…
"Well then," the older voice says, "Let's get down to it."
The voice behind you, and the voice before you, murmur and chant words that sound… again, familiar to you, ones you've read in books, or heard spoken aloud by a lecturer.
An …Arch…?
It's gone. The words supplant those thoughts, arcane and guttural.
The words have power, resonance in the air, and you feel their resonances curl around you, alight on your body and melt inside.
They weave around your spine and hold you stable, even as you writhe in the bonds and the hood.
Some of the words curl upwards into your head, joining in with the hood's gentle fondling, but from within you rather than without.
Other words curl downwards, to your loins, curling around an organ that makes you twinge and twitch with heart-flutters and muffled whines.
What were you thinking about…?
You can feel your brain pickling from the massage, the simple tingly pleasure of the massage…
A thick, rough paw rests on your chest, then slides slowly down to rest on your stomach. Your body involuntarily pushes towards the sensation rather than shying away. And the claws continue to stroke. They trace shapes and spirals, lines and curls… runes? They feel familiar, you can picture them in your mind, but you're having trouble piecing them together or remembering what they might mean…
"Well then," the older voice says, "Let's get down to it."
The voice behind you, and the voice before you, murmur and chant words that sound… again, familiar to you, ones you've read in books, or heard spoken aloud by a lecturer.
An …Arch…?
It's gone. The words supplant those thoughts, arcane and guttural.
The words have power, resonance in the air, and you feel their resonances curl around you, alight on your body and melt inside.
They weave around your spine and hold you stable, even as you writhe in the bonds and the hood.
Some of the words curl upwards into your head, joining in with the hood's gentle fondling, but from within you rather than without.
Other words curl downwards, to your loins, curling around an organ that makes you twinge and twitch with heart-flutters and muffled whines.
The hood squeezes again. You feel your thoughts being wrung out of you, trickling down your body until it pools between your legs, and…
Nnngh…
Your cock's stirring. Or maybe it's been hard for a while, but the massage distracted you from it.
It feels like it's swelling - not merely engorged, but growing, bigger, bigger… heh, you feel dizzier, too… head's whizzing and spinning…
Ohhh, your cock's getting bigger, swelling up, too… bigger than normal? It feels that way. More blood, more will, is being poured into it. You feel the added weight pulling you forward even before the rough hand traces down your stomach to grip your cock.
It's wet in an instant, moistened by a charm, and it glides up, then down… up… then down…
Nnngh…
Your cock's stirring. Or maybe it's been hard for a while, but the massage distracted you from it.
It feels like it's swelling - not merely engorged, but growing, bigger, bigger… heh, you feel dizzier, too… head's whizzing and spinning…
Ohhh, your cock's getting bigger, swelling up, too… bigger than normal? It feels that way. More blood, more will, is being poured into it. You feel the added weight pulling you forward even before the rough hand traces down your stomach to grip your cock.
It's wet in an instant, moistened by a charm, and it glides up, then down… up… then down…
And now you can tell, based on the way the grip is widening, that your cock is getting bigger…
It's stealing your brain power. Your thoughts. Your IQ.
Your head's getting squeezed and wrung by those gently tickling touches, dislodging them and allowing them to fall out of your head… trickling down to settle in a more important organ. The new pilot of your thoughts, the proper pilot
Your head isn't important. Your brain is ancillary Your mind is made for being massaged, for having the thoughts coaxed out of it, so all that energy can go right down to your growing, dribbling cock…
"All that knowledge…" the deep voice chuckles. "All those books you've pored over. All those spells you've pushed into that head over your years of study… they'll make for a very fine tincture. One that'll fetch a very high price."
Nnnh… knowledge potion… you faintly recall, yes, some particularly powerful knowledge potions use the seed of a scholar as an ingredient, but there's another part of the process that's…
That does something to the… mind of the…
To you…?
No, the thought's gone.
It drips out of your head. Down to your hard, thick cock.
It ceases to be important.
"And… you won't get any of those funny little ideas you used to have, will you, Ten, my pretty little bird?"
The gag in your beak is pulled free, and you gasp an obedient "No, Sir!"
You put your whole body into that 'No, Sir', your stomach pushing against his rubbing paw. The hood squeezes you, more firmly, and a paroxysm of bliss makes your toe-talons scrape against the floor and your body twist.
The chants continue, keeping an even pace, the volume unchanging…
And yet the sensations, the effects of the spell, seem to be getting exponentially stronger.
As your head gets quieter and squishier and emptier… your cock throbs harder, coiled up in arcane words which fondle and squeeze and cradle. The tiny rubs and tickles feel so overwhelmingly good, you barely notice the first climax until it hits you, and you feel the glass rim of a bottle against your glans as you pour your seed into a receptacle.
And you feel so good and lightheaded and nice, and maybe it is night time, maybe you ought to let the paws work you over and the spell squeeze away your thoughts… and go back to sleep…
It's stealing your brain power. Your thoughts. Your IQ.
Your head's getting squeezed and wrung by those gently tickling touches, dislodging them and allowing them to fall out of your head… trickling down to settle in a more important organ. The new pilot of your thoughts, the proper pilot
Your head isn't important. Your brain is ancillary Your mind is made for being massaged, for having the thoughts coaxed out of it, so all that energy can go right down to your growing, dribbling cock…
"All that knowledge…" the deep voice chuckles. "All those books you've pored over. All those spells you've pushed into that head over your years of study… they'll make for a very fine tincture. One that'll fetch a very high price."
Nnnh… knowledge potion… you faintly recall, yes, some particularly powerful knowledge potions use the seed of a scholar as an ingredient, but there's another part of the process that's…
That does something to the… mind of the…
To you…?
No, the thought's gone.
It drips out of your head. Down to your hard, thick cock.
It ceases to be important.
"And… you won't get any of those funny little ideas you used to have, will you, Ten, my pretty little bird?"
The gag in your beak is pulled free, and you gasp an obedient "No, Sir!"
You put your whole body into that 'No, Sir', your stomach pushing against his rubbing paw. The hood squeezes you, more firmly, and a paroxysm of bliss makes your toe-talons scrape against the floor and your body twist.
The chants continue, keeping an even pace, the volume unchanging…
And yet the sensations, the effects of the spell, seem to be getting exponentially stronger.
As your head gets quieter and squishier and emptier… your cock throbs harder, coiled up in arcane words which fondle and squeeze and cradle. The tiny rubs and tickles feel so overwhelmingly good, you barely notice the first climax until it hits you, and you feel the glass rim of a bottle against your glans as you pour your seed into a receptacle.
And you feel so good and lightheaded and nice, and maybe it is night time, maybe you ought to let the paws work you over and the spell squeeze away your thoughts… and go back to sleep…
But…
There's an extinction burst. One last holdout of resistance in your bird brain. One last gasp. An attempt to cry out. Plead? Curse? Cast a spell of your own? Something instinctive…
But no words come. Just a dazed chirp, a moan…
"That's right, Ten…" the older voice coos, his subordinate picking up the incantation where he left off. "There's no need to fight it. This will be a far easier life for you… no more poring over books and endlessly questing for knowledge. You'll be far more useful to me, and to the world, exactly like this."
The hood squeezes your head… He must be right. You have been given permission by a superior to give in, and you'll do exactly that.
There's an extinction burst. One last holdout of resistance in your bird brain. One last gasp. An attempt to cry out. Plead? Curse? Cast a spell of your own? Something instinctive…
But no words come. Just a dazed chirp, a moan…
"That's right, Ten…" the older voice coos, his subordinate picking up the incantation where he left off. "There's no need to fight it. This will be a far easier life for you… no more poring over books and endlessly questing for knowledge. You'll be far more useful to me, and to the world, exactly like this."
The hood squeezes your head… He must be right. You have been given permission by a superior to give in, and you'll do exactly that.
You're past the point of rescue. Past the point where any conscious thoughts remain. All the knowledge you've accumulated since arriving at the University, and more besides, becomes part of the Arch-Lecturer's Knowledge Tincture.
Your hard, virile, swollen cock produces a great deal of raw material for the potions. It drips like a spigot almost constantly.
You have a lot of knowledge to give after all, each intelligence-draining orgasm providing even more seed than the last. And you chirp so beautifully with each climax, sharing sweet birdsong rather than backtalk.
The sort of backtalk you had been giving the Arch-Lecturer, the contradictions and questions that had irritated him so…
You'll know better than to do that when the spell is lifted, and embarrassment rushes in to take up the empty space in that mind.
Your hard, virile, swollen cock produces a great deal of raw material for the potions. It drips like a spigot almost constantly.
You have a lot of knowledge to give after all, each intelligence-draining orgasm providing even more seed than the last. And you chirp so beautifully with each climax, sharing sweet birdsong rather than backtalk.
The sort of backtalk you had been giving the Arch-Lecturer, the contradictions and questions that had irritated him so…
You'll know better than to do that when the spell is lifted, and embarrassment rushes in to take up the empty space in that mind.
For now, though, when you open your eyes, and stare into the darkness of the tight hood… you decide that it must be night time, and you go back to sleep.
