Trixie and the Magic Hands

A cool breeze across her aching buttocks roused Trixie Lulamoon back to semi-conciousness. She had no idea how much time had passed, but the steady drum-roll of torrential rain on her roof gave her mind something to focus on. After some timelessness, she summoned what resolve she had and dragged herself to a more fully awake frame of mind.

Immediately, she began to regret this. Her body ached all over. Her marehood and arse, tail-base and buttocks all throbbed. Her arms, legs, back and jaw were all stiff. Her nipples were tender and her head pounded. When she tried to move, her aches and pains protested all the more fiercly, but she came to realise just what a mess she was. No part of her body wasn't covered in dried sweat, and most of it was covered in other, partially dry, fluids. Her bedsheets were clammy and her mane was a greasy tangled mess around her head.

With all the strength she could muster, she forced limbs of hot lead to rise from their crumpled poses, dragging herself to her hooves. She glanced around the room anxiously, but none of the daemonic gauntlets were to be seen. She spied a half-glass of water on the table beside her, and eagerly gulped down the tepid water.

She discarded her cloak and pendant. Then, after a pause, she began walking towards the bathroom, but quickly amended that to hobbling sideways along the wall towards her bathroom. About half-way there, she stopped to look at herself in the mirror. Blue skin darkened to ugly purple around her throat and thighs, the latter coated with dried-on reddish-brown streaks. Her eyes were red and swollen, overall she looked, if anything, worse than she felt.

She resumed her hobbling, and quickly amended that statement to "almost as bad as she felt".

She paused at the doorway to glare at the book sitting smugly on her desk. "Never again," she silently vowed. Why, if she had the strength she would burn the damned thing right now, if only for the spark of pleasure it would bring her. For the time being, though, she had other concerns.

As she stepped into her bathroom, mentally thanking the architect for giving this tiny cottage a generously sized bath and separate shower, several things caught her attention. Firstly (in order), were the bubbles piled high upon the bathtub already full of water. Second was the steam which hit her, the room filled with the sweet smell of hot water. Third was the open door to the shower, which Trixie had always left shut by habit.

Fourth, was the white glove sitting on the shower's shelf, holding a brush upright.

Trixie stared for a moment, frozen fearfully in place. Slowly, she raised her hand to her nose, guarding her mouth.

"TheGreatAndPowerFullTrixieCommandsYou to NOT attack her."

The glove remained motionless.

"And not to grab her, or stick anything, including yourself, into her mouth, or do anything else to prevent her giving you orders."

"Ok?"

The glove put the brush down, slowly made a thumbs-up gesture, then picked the brush back up. Was it Trixie's imagination, or did it look almost… apologetic?

Trixie stared for a while longer. The gloves… had only been following her orders, right? It wouldn't, couldn't, attack her now that she'd given it a newer command. She wasn't certain she had the strength to dispel it, but…

No. She … she was a professional, skilled magician. On mishap wasn't going to leave her doubting her abilities, or fearing her own magic like some silly schoolfilly. The glove was… definitely… no danger to her, not now.

She took a hesitant, awkward step forwards before a thought occurred. The glove had apparently run the bath for her. She hadn't ordered it to do that, had she? Unless… was this maybe covered by "use your initiative"? That had to be it. The glove was filled with her magic, able to anticipate her needs, able to sense how badly she would want a herbal soak right now.

Had it… "sensed" that she wanted to be half-strangled and violated, too? How far could she trust this thing?

No, she was a professional, skilled magician who was fully in control and had nothing to be scared of. She turned back towards the inviting bathtub, and stepped right up to it before a load tapping caught her attention. The glove was bashing the brush against the wall to call her over.

She started again, at the shower, at the bath, then down at herself. Right. If she went straight into the bath, all this… mess, would be floating around with her. A quick shower first, to clean up, made far more sense.

Swallowing, she stepped into the shower, and turned the water on. The glove rose, and gently began to help her scrub herself clean. She tensed at first, but forced herself to relax, and was rewarded by swift, but skilled, scrubbing. It took five, maybe 10 minutes before she felt ready to bathe, the hot water already doing a great deal to refresh her tired muscles.

At the edge of the bath, she dipped her hand into the water. Too hot. She reached for the tabs, only to find the glove perched there. Undoubtedly, it had decide this temperature would be perfect for her, just as it had apparently decided she would enjoy the merciless abuse she had received earlier.

After some quiet contemplation of this, she withdrew her hand and silently climbed into the bath. The hot water made her gasp and almost drove her to climb out, but as she sank in deeper, pain and agony seemed to leech out of her body, the heat penetrating deeply. She lay for a while, adjusting to the heat. A tiny jingling noise made her look up, and she watched the last glove dissolve in a tiny cloud of sparks, the last of the magic spent.

As she soaked in the heavenly hot tub, a tiny smile played on her lips.

Perhaps she could word her orders more carefully, next time…