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Madam M is behind the counter, talking to a younger employee as Cloud walks in. "You said you wanted to meet?" he asks. He's supposed to go fight at the arena to get her permit to meet Corneo. It feels like it's taken ages to actually get in there. Things seem to move slowly behind the scenes in Wall Market, always having to go through some crime lord or corrupt official. He's almost forgotten what this was about at this point.
The madam turns to look. "Ah, yes, you." She turns back to the girl: "Mind the counter. No walk-ins today." The girl nods, and the two of them trade places, as Madam M jerks her head towards the back.
Cloud follows her through the waiting room, and then down the hall to a room with a door instead of a sliding curtain. She must have something to say she really doesn't want anyone to hear. He walks in when she opens the door, to a room with a large massage table, covered in white cloth. Looks like any other kind of room in a legit massage parlor.
He turns as she shuts the door. "So, what did you want?"
"You're getting a whole-body workup before your big fight," she says. "I need you in top shape. Strip and get on the table, face down."
Strip?! "Do we even have time for this?" Cloud demands. "The match is in—"
She snaps her fan open and fans herself once or twice. The pattern is familiar—gold with black flecks. Or, more black with gold flecks? They blend together in the middle. She must like this one. Cloud kind of likes it, too… "The match is in two hours," she says. Oh. Cloud must have misremembered. "We have plenty of time. My massage will limber you right up, and you'll perform better. So strip down, and get on the table." She rolls her eyes. "I'll turn around, if you're going to be so modest about it."
Well, Madam M does know how things work around here, better than Cloud does. And the faster they do this, the faster Cloud can get to his match. It all makes perfect sense, now that he thinks about it.
Sword in the corner, gloves off, pauldron, shirt, boots, socks, pants. He hesitates—"All the way," Madam M insists from behind him. "There's a towel for modesty next to the table. Drape it over your backside if you want."
Okay, sure. Cloud pulls his underwear off and, grabbing the towel, situates himself on the table, which is more like an elaborate chair, with spaces for his face and abdomen. He's never gotten a full-body massage before.
Madam M drizzles something on his back. He flinches slightly. "It's just massage oil," she scolds. "Don't be so jumpy and let me do my work."
She digs the heel of her hand into his shoulder blade, and slides it up. The pressure feels good, Cloud has to admit. She's almost un-gentle with him; some spots hurt. But after the pain passes, Cloud feels his muscles un-knotting.
She moves on to his arms, then down his back, then to his calves, then up his legs to the back of his thighs. Then Cloud feels her shift the towel.
"H-hey," he tries to protest.
"Your glutes are the most important muscles. Don't be a prude," Madam M snaps. "I'm the expert here. Let me take care of you."
At that, Cloud's objection fades. That's right. Madam M will take care of him. The heel of her hand digs up into the lower part of his ass, above his hamstring, and he feels himself melt into the table a little more as something releases.
"That's right," Madam M says, in a soothing voice completely unlike the brusque tone she had just taken with him. "Let it happen. Trust me."
She does one leg and then the other, murmuring a few more times, "That's it. Let it happen. Relax into it. I'll take care of you." Each time she does, Cloud relaxes even further. His body feels looser than it has in years. He feels… almost sleepy…
"Okay," Madam M says. "Time to do your front. Turn over for me."
Almost reluctant to move, Cloud shifts around until he's facing the other way. Madam M steps around and cranks something, lifting one side of the table up until it's more like a reclined chair. Cloud had held the towel carefully over his privates as he turned, of course.
Madam M clacks her fan open again. "Feels good, doesn't it?" she says.
"Y…yeah…" Cloud admits.
"Almost makes you a little bit drowsy, hm?"
Cloud blinks slowly. "…Yeah…" Her fan is fluttering.
"Hm." Madam M tilts her head, a wry smile curving one cheek. "That's normal."
Then she clacks her fan closed, and clacks it open again. "It's time to go to work, butterfly," she says.
Cloud—
—falls away.
His mind is empty. He's the madam's perfect butterfly. Obedient, and sweet. He's so relaxed, and his body feels good. The chair under him, the texture of the towel on him, the gold and black of the madam's fan, little sensory details are the only thing that exist right now, until the madam speaks.
"My butterfly, do you remember the rules?"
The butterfly remembers, now that he's told. "I must listen to everything the madam says…" he murmurs. His head keeps drooping down, and he keeps lifting it back up to look at the madam. "The madam is always right, and everything she says is true… I'm madam's little butterfly… Butterfly listens to the madam… and… obeys."
The madam's fan flutters. "You remembered all the rules," she says. "That's very good." She steps forward and places her open fan under the butterfly's chin and lifts his head to look him in the eyes. "I'm very pleased with my little butterfly for remembering the rules."
A pure sense of happiness blooms inside the butterfly's chest. He tries to keep eye contact with the madam, but he keeps sleepily blinking.
"Say, 'thank you, madam,'" she prompts.
"Thank you, madam," the butterfly repeats.
"Good." She tilts the butterfly's face back and forth one more time. "My, you do have such pretty eyes."
She said 'pretty'… "Thank you, madam," the butterfly says.
"Oh, you learn quickly," the madam says. She removes her fan and returns to flapping it slowly before her face. "The madam is so pleased with her butterfly. And her butterfly feels so good from its massage earlier. Doesn't butterfly feel good?"
Everything the madam says is true. "I feel… good…"
"Yes. I think you feel so good that you feel a little aroused," the madam says. "Doesn't that sound right? Isn't your body warming up the more I speak?"
Everything the madam says is true, so… and the butterfly does feel good, so… The butterfly's heart begins beating a little faster. He feels his cock starting to warm up. The butterfly flushes. "I am…" he says, unsure of what to say to the madam. "I'm sorry…"
"You don't have to be sorry," the madam says. "You just have to listen to the madam. Now, take the towel off."
The butterfly hesitates, but removes the towel, exposing itself. "Hm," the madam says, "medium. That's okay." She clacks her fan shut and open. "Now touch yourself."
The butterfly moves his hand, but… he… it's… in front of…
She clacks her fan again. "Butterfly listens to the madam and obeys," she reminds him. "Butterfly always obeys."
That's right… Everything the madam says is true. The butterfly places his hand on his cock. It's half-hard.
"I mean, stroke yourself, butterfly," the madam says. There is an edge of irritation in her voice.
Ashamed at causing the madam displeasure, the butterfly begins to stroke its cock, waking it up. "That's right," the madam says. "The more you touch yourself, the more your thoughts wash away. With every stroke, you remember you obey me. Your body obeys me. You're my little butterfly, and you exist to obey me."
Her words penetrate the butterfly so deeply. Every touch brings him more pleasure, and more of him falls away. Emotions like embarrassment or shame wash away with every touch. Only her voice fills him, and his cock throbs and throbs. He can't help but let a moan escape him.
"That's right, my butterfly. You feel this good because I ordered you to. This is how it feels to exist for me. Deeper and deeper your mind falls under my command, my butterfly. Your head empty of anything else."
The butterfly lets out a long sigh of pleasure. He's so happy to be like this. He can feel himself reaching that point, his cock throbbing, his balls clenching, and—
"Now stop immediately. You are frozen in place," the madam orders.
The butterfly stops. He exists for the madam, so he stops. But… he was so close to finishing… Even though he exists to please the madam, and obeying her feels so good, a part of him feels shocked that he stopped. A part of him wants to keep going.
The madam smiles. "Move your hand away from your cock," she orders. He does so, slowly. "Now," she says, "tell me how you feel."
"H… Horny," the butterfly says. He pauses, and then continues, "I wanna come… really bad…"
"Ah, yes. But butterfly can't come until the madam says so." She clacks her fan. "Butterfly loves being under the madam's command, remember? Madam takes care of it."
The butterfly loves being under the madam's command. Everything the madam says is true. But…
"I can see that you're thinking about how badly you want to finish," she says. "Madam understands. It's a natural desire. Let the madam help you." She waves her fan, and the bursts of wind flow over the butterfly's cock. He shivers violently. Without touching himself, his cock was starting to cool down, but now the frissons of air wake it back up, bringing him back to the brink.
"So empty-headed, my little butterfly," she cooes. "When all you can think about is how badly you want to finish, you aren't thinking about anything else." Please… he wants to come… "You don't need to think about anything else but how your dick feels right now. I'm teaching you how to exist for pleasure. It's pleasurable on this edge when you can't think, isn't it?"
The butterfly struggles to speak. "Yes… madam…" he says.
She stops fanning. "Now, just rest your hand on your dick. Don't stroke."
The butterfly puts his hand back on his cock. His hand is warm…
"The butterfly must not come until the madam gives the order. The butterfly's body obeys only the madam's voice. Now, stroke yourself once."
The butterfly strokes his aching cock.
"Again."
He's so close…
"Again."
Obey only the madam's…
"Again."
The butterfly can't help it—its balls clench and its cock throbs and it pumps hard and comes—the madam ducks out of the way as the stream splatters the far wall. For a moment, the butterfly feels a foreign emotion—Why did I just do that? as a whole, complete thought. The butterfly tenses. The thought begins to grow stronger, a dark intrusion into the butterfly's light and airy mind—
The madam steps back in front of the butterfly and opens her fan. "Listen only to my voice," she says. Rule: The butterfly pays special attention when the madam opens her fan, and trusts her."You are my obedient and sweet butterfly." Rule: Everything the madam says is true. "Watch only my fan." Rule: The butterfly listens and obeys the madam. For a moment, silence hangs in the air. The madam moves the fan gracefully from left to right. The butterfly's eyes follow it. She seems to relax, and then reassures: "You don't have to worry. You don't have to think. Your mind is safe under my control. Repeat when I say it: The madam takes care of you."
"The madam…" the butterfly repeats, trembling, unsure of itself, "takes care… of me…"
She flaps her fan. "You're so relaxed now that you've finished, aren't you? Your mind is washing away again, safe. The madam takes care of you."
The thoughts entering the butterfly's mind begin to blur. He… has to… "The madam takes care of me…" the butterfly repeats, more quietly.
"The butterfly is obedient and sweet, and obeys the madam, because the madam takes care of it."
"Because the madam takes care of it…" the butterfly repeats. That's right. The butterfly is obedient and sweet. It loves the madam. The tension that had entered it begins to melt away. "The butterfly is obedient and sweet," he murmurs, his eyelids drooping slightly.
"I know," the madam says, encouragingly. "That was scary. The butterfly broke a rule. You must have been so frightened. That's why you began to feel so strange."
Everything the madam says is true. "I felt… confused," the butterfly admits. What had happened to him?
"It's hard to keep your mind completely empty, isn't it?" the madam says. "When your mind strays away, you might break a rule. You're still learning how to be the madam's perfect butterfly. That's why the madam won't punish you for breaking a rule this time. Aren't you relieved?"
The butterfly feels his eyes mist over slightly. "I'm so relieved…" he says. "Thank you, madam."
She covers her mouth with her fan, and steps aside, looking at the wall. "Butterfly made a little mess. That's what happens when it breaks the rules." She looks back. "We're practicing obedience to the madam so that you can become the perfect butterfly."
The butterfly nods, chastened.
"I expect your body to obey me. And I know you have a special kind of stamina. So we're going to try again," the madam says. She clacks her fan open and shut, open and shut. "Listen to my voice." The butterfly's head droops a little, and he closes his eyes, so he can listen more intently. "You're beginning to become aroused again. You're horny because you love being the madam's butterfly and obeying her. You know obeying her gives you pleasure."
He had just finished a moment ago, but he feels the blood surging in him again, his skin tingling, his cock warming and waking up. The memory of the madam controlling his body and reactions fills him, and connects to his body: yes, the butterfly is aroused when it obeys. Obedience is pleasure. Even without yet touching himself, his cock begins to rise.
"Yes, very good. I see your body is learning. Now, as before, touch yourself until you reach the edge."
The butterfly will be so good this time. He strokes himself dutifully. Sometimes a sigh or a moan escapes him. He reaches the edge, his cock dripping, and this time he stops without being told.
"Good, my butterfly," the madam says. "I need you to have this stamina. You'll be using it soon."
"Using…?" the butterfly asks, desperate for something to keep its mind away from its cock, so it can obey the madam and stay on the edge.
"Oh, my butterfly, don't worry." The madam flips her fan open. "You don't need to think right now. Let your mind fall away. All you feel is the intensity of your pleasure, almost ready to finish. Don't fight it. Live in the moment."
The butterfly lets go of everything. Even the feeling of urgency to finish. He… just… feels… so good… like nothing else matters…
The madam's voice enters his consciousness. "This is how it feels to be under my control, my butterfly. When you obey the madam, you won't feel anything but pleasure, no matter what happens. You can endure anything when your mind is empty and you obey only my orders. You're enduring this right now."
The butterfly's head lolls slightly to the side. Enduring anything… appeals to him in a special, more intense way. It seems to sink down somewhere under the butterfly's light and airy mind, as though feeding some need hidden at its core. "I can endure anything," he whispers, her words bouncing into and back out of him.
The madam's voice: "Would you like to come?"
The butterfly doesn't answer. His mind is empty.
"Hmmm…" The madam hides a smile behind her fan. "I think you'd like to come."
The desire to finish enters the butterfly's mind again, taking hold of him. "Yes, madam," he says, his voice thin from holding himself back.
"Maybe I'll let you touch yourself again," she says coyly.
"M…maybe?" the butterfly whispers.
"Beg me," she orders.
The butterfly says, "Please let me touch myself. I want to come."
She snaps her fan. "Too clinical. I want you to sound like an empty-headed slut. Because right now, you are. Repeat that."
This is new. The butterfly hasn't been a slut before. But he's empty-headed, so… "I'm… an empty-headed slut."
"One stroke. Repeat it and moan while you say it."
The butterfly gives its cock one long stroke, gripping itself hard, and says, moaning a little, "I'm an eeempty-headed, h, slut."
"Don't just repeat my words back to me," the madam orders. "You believe them. You believe you're an empty-headed slut who can only think about coming, because I told you, and everything I say is the truth." The butterfly is an empty-headed slut who can only think about coming now. The pleasure of obeying the madam melts away whatever else the butterfly thought about himself. "Now," the madam orders, "stroke yourself three times and moan, 'I'm an empty-headed slut who can only think about coming.' Let yourself sound feminine."
"Ooah," the butterfly cries aloud, his hand slipping on his cock, careful not to bring itself too close, mind entirely inside it, "I'm an empty-headed slut—aaah—" his voice slips high in a way he's never sounded before—"who can only, nh, think about coming."
The madam puts her fan under the butterfly's chin again and looks it in the eyes. "You're starting to get it. Your inhibitions are beginning to disappear. Doesn't it feel good?"
The butterfly pants. "It feels… good… madam…" He can only think about coming.
"Yes, you feel so good right now, butterfly. You're so free when you're doing as I order." She smiles. "You're naked with your throbbing cock out, and yet you feel so safe doing what I say. The madam is taking good care of you."
"Yes…" the butterfly sighs, squirming a little, "the madam… takes care of me…"
"What a sweet butterfly you've been. So obedient." The madam hands him a fresh towel. "Bring yourself to completion and catch it with that. Do not get it on anything."
The butterfly covers himself with the towel and jerks his cock, groaning and sighing because he's an empty-headed slut who can only think about coming, pumping his hips into his hand. The cry that escapes him when he comes is high, slightly feminine, pornographic. His mind is entirely empty of everything now. He slumps back in the massage chair, spent.
"My, my, butterfly, you're learning. I bet you're so tired now," the madam says. "I'm going to count down from ten, and you're going to fall into a deep sleep. So deep, you won't see or hear anything except the sound of my voice. You're going to take all your memories with you into this deep sleep, where they'll sleep safe inside you. Remember, I always take care of you."
"The madam…" the butterfly repeats, dazed, "always takes care of me."
"That's right. Ten…"
Cloud snaps awake in the massage chair.
"You need to get more rest," Madam M says sardonically. "That's the second time you've fallen asleep in my chair."
"Sorry," Cloud grunts, trying to cover his embarrassment with annoyance. "We better get a move on."
"Move on to what?" Madam M says, fanning herself with that gold and black fan. "The match is tomorrow morning."
"Seriously?" Cloud snaps, sitting up hard, so hard he almost knocks his towel off.
"Yes, something about losing control of some animal. But don't worry. You're not in a hurry. You have all the time in the world."
That's… right. Cloud's… He's not in a hurry, right? He puts a hand to his head. Something doesn't feel right about this.
Madam M fans herself again. The motion catches Cloud's eye. "You better rest up for your big match tomorrow. And come here in the morning beforehand. I'll give you the lowdown on what Corneo's up to."
Okay. Right. That's the plan. "Okay, then," Cloud says. "So can I get dressed now, or what?"
Madam M snaps her fan shut. "Certainly," she says. "I'll be at the front. And don't worry. It's free of charge."
"Huh," Cloud says. You'd think a full-body massage would be expensive. "Guess you're really taking care of me."
Madam M smiles. "I always do," she says, shutting the door behind her.