Trixie and the Magic Hands

The blue dots swirled in place, as Trixie stared. Had they actually interpreted her outburst as a command? Did that mean — Trixie bit her lip nervously — they were preparing to "Get her off", even now calculating the exact touch needed to most effectively bring her pleasure.

This spell might not be so bad after all. Trixie leaned back on the bed, angling her breast and hips to give the gloves the best possible angle, preparing her body for…

What, exactly? The dots had been swirling for a little while now, and it occurred to Trixie that “use your initiative” might not be the best command to give to a mindless, pseudo-intelligent spell. The damn thing was probably broken.

In fact, yes, she was increasingly convinced that she would have to dispel the whole thing and cast it all over again — and the first casting had taken quite a bit of magic out of her. Maybe she should just call it a night, and try again some other time. The spell had worked, after all, and even a genius such as herself couldn't be expected to achieve perfection first try. She sighed, and sat upright, preparing to lift herself from the edge of the bed and stand up.

With a tiny “ping”, the dots disappeared. The sound made Trixie look up, and the next thing she knew, she had been slammed back into the mattress, hooves flying up into the air, a crushing pressure against her neck. Reflex kicked in before she could think, and soon she was struggling to pull one of the gloves away from her throat, where it seemed intent on throttling her.

Blood was rushing to her head, but she could clearly hear the high pitched squeaking as the gloves split again, two more grabbing her wrists and forcing her arms back down onto the bed beside her. She gave out a strangled cry, as her hooves flailed wildly, kicking the air.

“S-Stop!” She forced herself to gasp a lungful of air. “TheGreatAndPowerFullTrixieComma—mmn-umph!” Silky, rubbery-solid fingers forced themselves into her mouth, pushing her teeth aside and pressing down on her tongue. She bit down, hard, but the magical construct was tough, and there was no feeling that her teeth had accomplished anything at all. Her horn flared fiercely as she poured her magic into a brute-force counterspell, but powerful fingers gripped her horn, encircling it, driving her head backwards, and blocking the magic with dizzying feedback.

Even as she thrashed and squirmed, vainly struggling against the unyielding grip of the gloves, two more caught her legs at the back of the knees, forcing them up high into the air, and spreading them apart. Yet it wasn't until yet another glove firmly ran a single, silken finger, from her waist, over her clitoris, and down the full length of her marehood, that understanding dawned in a small corner of her mind.

The gloves, at least, were not trying to kill her. Her breathing was being restricted, but not prevented. Blood was rushing to her head as the sensation triggered instinctive panic, yet the glove was not using all its strength, by a long way. Apparently, the spell had simply decided that being forced onto her back, restrained, and asphyxiated, would be the most effective way for her to “get off”.

That thought didn't help much. She yelled angrily into the fingers that were even now stroking her tongue; She twisted against the hands on her wrists, and kicked the air helplessly, as the finger stroked back up along the the length of her pussy, before making small circles on her clit. It didn't help matters that her treacherous loins were sending waves of pleasure up through her abdomen at every touch.

The fingers continued to tease her pussy, spreading her lips and circling the opening. There was little she could do about it; Her buttocks had slipped down over the edge of the bed, but the gloves holding her meant she could neither pull away nor push onto the disobedient digits (not that she would do so, if she could). Each motion of the fingers sent out tiny ripples of sensation, and she found herself wishing that if they wouldn't stop, they would at least get on with it already.

The grip on her neck seemed to have loosened, at least — or perhaps it was merely because she was struggling less violently. Blind, unreasoned, panic had settled into short-sighted, loosely planned, panic. Two more hands (how many were there?) gripped her backside, then rubbed their way around her hips, up past her waist, and on to her boobs. There, they groped and tugged her, occasionally flicking over her nipples. The feeling of helplessness affected her more than the touch itself, but the effect was no less stimulating.

She drew breath, and let out — a yell? A moan? Definitely a sound of protest, not pleasure. Definitely. Yet the gloves seemed to respond with renewed intensity. Thumbs and forefingers gripped her nipples, gently rolling them, and the single digit pushed firmly against her vagina. With her back arched, her knees push up and apart, and her arousal providing an abundance of lubrication, it slid in easily, penetrating no more than an inch, yet enough to set off a renewed shudder from her hips up to her shoulders.

Oh stars, she was going to cum. Not right this instance, but there was no denying the feeling welling up inside her. It felt shameful, to realise that these mindless constructs could do such things to her, and that she would actually enjoy it. Yet for all her protests, she could not control her body's reaction. The finger rubbed up and down, in and out. Hands returned to massaging her breasts. A thumb pressed against her clit, and began to rub in sync with the slowly thrusting finger. Even the hand clasping her horn, holding her head back, stroked a thumb over her point, and a pinkie finger stroked the base. Nerve endings not normally made for pleasure nonetheless added to the rising climax.

She moaned, letting her body slip into the rising pleasure, letting it slip into her. She was getting so close now, the hot air and the blood-rush to her brain making her dizzy with pleasure. So close! Her moaning continued, drawn out and higher pitched. The finger in her pussy pushed deeper, and she clenched and unclenched with each thrust. Some small shred of dignity in the back of her mind reassured her; Almost there. They're just trying to get you off; Once you come it will end. Oh Celestia, she wanted to cum. She was right on the edge, right about to…

Another hand came down hard on her butt cheeks, a forceful, open-handed smack, which made her squeal in surprise. The orgasm she had almost reached slipped away, taunting her. She clenched and bucked, trying to recapture the feeling from the finger inside her. The fingers on her breasts responding by pinching her nipples painfully, tugging them upwards. She cried out in angry frustration as finger and thumb continued to stimulate her cunt, her climax denied.

The hand that had smacked her began massaging her backside, so although her climax was rising once again, she new full well what would come next. Sure enough, as she approached the edge for a second time, the hand pulled back, letting loose another pleasure-stuttering slap to her now sensitive cheeks. She tried to brace herself, to ride through it, but her body simply couldn't finish despite her efforts.

Having half a hand in her mouth made her shouting unintelligible, but this did not stop her from incoherently summoning the filthiest curses she knew at this development. The hands were meant to serve her; How dare they bring her so close, only to deny her. Her hooves kicked the air once more, as she chewed furiously on the solid, un-biteable glove-gag which prevented her from ordering these damned things properly.

The finger slid deeper inside her, curling and stroking her inside. Her hips bucked and rolled, dancing to each stroke like a puppet on command. Her throat made a wailing, squealing sound entirely without her brain's approval, a mix of pleasure and despair. She was so close this time, the feeling welling inside her so great, she was certain no amount of spanking would stop this one.

Yes … yes … almost … the spanking hand slid finger and thumb around the base of her tail. No! Not that! Trixie never let anypony yank her —

The hand yanked her tail. Hard. Tears ran down Trixie's cheeks as a third broken, denied orgasm scattered its remains through her body. The assault on her crotch continued unabated, the glove now pressing the base of its thumb against her clit as the finger continued to press against the same area from inside. Waves of confused pleasure washed through a sex organ that no longer knew if it was cumming or going. Her breasts ached as the hands abused them more. Her buttocks ached. Each new thrust was punctuated by a gentle tug on her tail, the unfamiliar sensation eliciting an unbidden squeal from her vocal chords at each pull.

A second digit pushed its way inside her vagina, adding to the intensity. As her fourth attempt at orgasm rose within her, Trixie wept and struggled in despair; She was already certain this, too, would be denied her.

Sure enough, as the pleasure grew greater, overwhelming her control once again, the tugging grew harder, the nipple pinching more frequent, and another hand joined with yet more spanking. As she approached the edge despite this abuse, even the hand in her pussy pulled out to deliver a stinging, swift, slap to her genitals. As this hand settled into alternating rounds of slapping and penetrating, though, she found that it no longer mattered. This orgasm, built on the remains of those that had failed to cum before, continued to grow despite the pain.

Her body convulsed and her voice screamed as the hands drove her to orgasm, floods of fluids drenching her loins, along with every glove near (or in) that area.

The pressure on her neck eased; Her legs were gently lowered as the torment of her breast and buttocks ground to a halt. She lay still for a while, gasping for breath and allowing the pleasure to wash trough her. She could not say how much time passed before a fearful, quivering thought sprouted through her contentment:

The hand had not left her mouth. She had been able to raise her head, but her horn was still gripped. A hand still rested against her vulva, and others on her knees. It wasn't over yet.

As if sensing that thought, the hands once again tightened their grip on her knees and wrists, while others began moving around to new positions.

No, it certainly wasn't over yet …