Mind Blind Saucy Side: Oh, Noh (Female Version) (Patreon)

When you first met her—truly met her, that is—your first thought upon learning the breadth of her powers was not “sexy time possibilities.”

No, that night, you were a fraught livewire of anxiety and anger, most of it directed towards her. Rightfully so, she admits now in the quiet hours when you’re both brave enough to discuss the past.

After Operation Hemera ended with her help, your fear gave way to forgiveness, and forgiveness eventually turned into trust. Trust which, against all the most impossible odds, slowly blossomed into love. Yet even then, your mind didn’t immediately go there.

It wasn’t until after a year together, when your too-loud headphones made your partner resort to calling you psychically to dinner, that you were struck by the true potential of her power.

Then, and only then, did it occur to you: “Oh! Sexy time possibilities.”

She was uncertain at first, never having used her powers in such a way, but you argued (rather persuasively, your legs locked around her hips) that, after the trauma her powers had inflicted, it was only fair that she provide you with an equal amount of pleasure.

Now, you know the moment that she steps into brainrange. When you first started doing this together, her questions were simple and straightforward:

What are you doing?

What are you wearing?

Have you missed me?

Is this what you want?

Her messages became bolder as she became more comfortable, questions often turning into orders (which, given the nature of your relationship, she was never fully certain whether you’d obey):

What are you wearing? became Take it off.

Have you missed me? became Tell me what you fantasized about today.

Is this what you want? remained the same, however. Always asked, every time. Sometimes, reading between the lines, you deciphered the question’s true meaning of ‘Am I truly what you want?’ and the even quieter question of ‘But why?’

The answers to both questions, of course, you’d proceed to remind her at soon as she stepped through the bedroom door.

Illusions are not, and never will be, as good as the real thing. Promises whispered into your mind lack the husky undertone of her aroused growl, and her distant touch leaves you stretching upwards in your bed, aching for more, throbbing into the empty air where she should be. It’s never fully satisfying, never enough, never more than a feather’s kiss.

The prolonged deprivation, however, does serve to enhance the real thing.