Trixie and the Magic Hands

“Hearstrings' Magical Servants”, read the title. An autonomous spell to conjure a magical construct, able to understand, and built to obey, basic commands. It would, of course, lack the basic intelligence of a real servant, and it required a considerable amount of magic, but cast correctly it could take on almost any form the caster desired. The section describing it was 10 pages long, full of academic waffle. Basic magic theory, blah blah, Trixie knew that already, a lengthy description of the spell, magical safeguards, how to give instructions (yawn), why did academics need to spend such a long time explaining such simple concepts? Trixie skipped ahead to the actual magic formula, which seemed fairly straightforward. Why, with Trixie's power she could probably summon two such constructs.

She paused for a moment, dwelling on that thought. After some time, though, she decided to start with just one. After all, she could make it any shape — any size — she wanted, right? It wouldn't get tired, or need a break, either. Trixie could hardly help sliding her left hand over her inner thigh as she contemplated the implications.

Once she was confident that she could handle the spell, and that the rest of the pages were just pointless pontification, she closed the book, stood up, and turned towards the centre of the room. She raised her hands theatrically (unnecessary, but she enjoyed the effect), and her horn began to glow fiercely.

An eldritch wind from places unknown swept around the room; Trixie's hair and cape billowed theatrically. Sparks crackled in the air with the acrid smell of lightning. Trixie grinned — she never tired of dramatic magic. The glowing sparks began to collect in the middle of the room, a swirling cluster of light. A blinding flash of white light lit the room for a moment.

This, of course, did not catch Trixie off-guard and did not leave her seeing spots and blinking furiously for several minutes, because she was a professional (and highly skilled) magician. It just happened that, at that same moment she finished the spell, a spec of dust landed in her eye.

A … hand was suspended in mid-air, in the middle of the room. Perhaps “glove” would be more appropriate, as it looked, for all the world, like a white magician's glove, complete with the flared wrist. As trixie stared, the glove slowly rotated in place, drifting seemingly heedless of gravity.

“That's it!?” Trixie sighed, and stared at the glove. Typical. All that effort and the spell turns out to be defective. She prodded the glove with her own finger. It seemed solid enough, though there was some give to it – the sensation of solid rubber. The surface was smooth like silk, though. With an idle thought, Trixie bent over to look at the underside, which turned out to be a flat white surface, with no opening.

“You are my servant?” The glove continue to slowly rotate, giving no other signs of response.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie commands you to respond!” The glove snapped around, palm towards her. The motion was so sudden that Trixie stepped back from reflex. The glove wriggled its fingers for a moment, then became still.

Trixie stared for a while, then walked slowly around the glove, towards her bed, not taking her eyes off it for a moment. The glove silently turned, the palm following her as she moved. It was … disconcerting. And then some.

Still … Trixie sat on the edge of her bed, contemplating the apparition. Not what she had in mind, exactly, but it might be more enjoyable than her own hands.

She hitched up her skirt, and slid her panties down, past her knees and onto the floor. Leaning back, she spread her legs, presenting herself to the magical glove. Now, How best to phrase the command?

“Uh, come here.” She gestured the empty space just in front of her marehood. The glove remained motionless.

“I command you to come here!”

The glove, if anything, remained even more motionless than before.

Trixie glared at the impudent magical manifestation. Somehow, its motionless white form seemed to be taunting her, understanding her every word yet refusing to give her any satisfaction.

Unless …

“The Great and Powerful Trixie commands you; Come here!” Immediately, the glove swooped down into place, stopping silently in the space between her legs, the palm once again towards her face. Trixie frowned; Seemingly, the first “command” she had issue had somehow imprinted this form on the psuedo-mind of the spell. Undoubtedly there was a way to change it, but she didn’t fancy returning to the book in defeat, so she would simply manage with this as it was.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie is feeling … stressed, and tense. She commands you to help her relieve the tension.” She wriggled her hips and gestured downwards as she spoke, to highlight the intended meaning.

For a short time, nothing happened. With rising annoyance, Trixie’s glare snapped back down to the errant enchantment. A small cluster of glowing blue circles was spinning in tiny loops above the glove’s wrist.

Trixie was taken aback for a moment by this new development, then opened her mouth to utter some choice “complaint”. Before she could do so, however, the dots disappeared, and the glove flipped in place before leaping up past her shoulders to somewhere behind her.

Before she could turn to see what the stupid thing was doing now, it set itself down on her shoulder and squeezed, firmly. The sensation made her gasp, as the strong grip forced tension from her tired shoulders. The glove shifted downwards slightly, driving the heel of its palm into her back. Trixie moaned as the massage eased out stresses she hadn’t realised she was carrying, and the glove travelled back up towards her other shoulder. Then across to the back of her neck, and down her spine; Trixie considered lying down to give her magic masseuse better access to her back.

She didn’t want to be deterred, though. She had created the glove for a reason and she would not accept alternatives. She allowed herself several more minutes of back-rubbing, but then set herself to the task of getting what she wanted.

“Stop.” The glove, of course, did not stop. “The Great and Powerful Trixie (mmm), commands you to stop that and come here.” She gestured the space in front of her. On command, the glove stopped what it was doing, and glided around to the space indicated.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie commands you …” She paused, a new problem occurring. With one thing and another, her body no longer seemed interested in her original plans. Perhaps some foreplay was in order. “The Great and Powerful Trixie commands you to fondle her boobs,” she declared, pushing her chest forward to present her ample cleavage to the servant.

The swirling dots appeared again, though only for a moment this time. Then a high-pitched squeak cut the air, and the glove … split. It was as if a superimposed image was sliding off it, before solidifying. Trixie stared at the two gloves, even as they drifted gently onto her breasts and began to rub, and squeeze. It occurred to her that previously, there had been a right hand only; Now there was one of each. It also occurred to her that her shirt and brassiere restricted the effect of the fondling quite a bit.

“Take off my shirt.” As ever, the gloves ignored the improperly-formed command. Trixie went to unbutton the garment herself, but found that, even with it unbuttoned, the gloves made the shirt difficult to remove. “The Great and Powerful Trixie commands you to remove her shirt. And her bra, and skirt while you’re at it — and then resume fondling.”

The gloves did as commanded, with Trixie’s assistance, but she was pleased to note that they did not struggle in the slightest with her bra clasp. Maybe they could manage better than a Stallion — or at least better than some Stallions, she smirked. The feeling of smooth silk on her bare skin, on her exposed nipples, was simply delicious.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie commands you to rub her navel.”
“No, not — ugh.”
“The Great and Powerful Trixie commands you, the right hand, to rub her navel while you, the left hand, continues to fondle her breast.”

“Mmm.” It didn’t matter, she noted, if she sat down or lay back, the gloves simply moved with her, continuing their groping. “The Great and Powerful Trixie commands the right hand to rub her thigh.” The glove did as commanded. “Ah! Th-the Great and Powerful Trixie commands the left hand to gently pinch her nipple.” To her surprise, the glove seemed to know exactly how firm to be. They were imbued with her own magic, so she supposed it made sense.

“The Great and Powerful Trixie commands you — uhg.” She sat up suddenly. It was infuriating that these gloves seemed to understand so precisely what her body was wanting, yet wouldn’t give her anything without the mindlessly correct instruction.

“Why does this have to be so damned awkward!? Just use your initiative! GET ME OFF!!”

She slumped back and sighed in exasperation. Of course, they wouldn’t obey, since it wasn’t a properly formed—

She looked back at the Gloves. They had stopped touching her, and were floating midair.
The swirling blue dots had appeared again.