The basement under Taylor's house had been absolutely filthy when she'd decided to move down there. Full of dust bunnies and ancient cobwebs, with only a single, sad light bulb dangling from the ceiling to brighten up the room through its dark brown glass.

Three months after she moved in the basement was clean. Its once bare walls lined with shelves and cabinets, workbenches and chests. Bookshelves stuffed with layers of modern books, mixed with tomes of antiquity—Yard sales were wondrous things—the small garden with plants and tools and other such items in the back with her bed completing the theme she was going for.

She'd kept the cobwebs of course. What kind of witch would she be without cobwebs? A terrible one, that's what! A witch without cobwebs wasn't a witch at all.

Her cheeks felt like they were burning as she poked at the cast-iron pot she'd stolen from the kitchen with a ladle, the overly anatomically accurate representation of…a horse's genitals that she'd taken from the back of her mother's wardrobe while looking for...ingredients slowly melting into the bubbling purple-black goo that she'd been working with over the last couple of weeks.

Not that she was all that great of a witch as it was. She wasn't old enough to be a better witch. At least, not by the laws that governed this part of the world. She also couldn't afford the—totally optional but not really if you want to keep to a theme—black cat and broom set.

She let out a sigh, grumbling about public decency laws and splinters as she popped open a vial and poured it into the mix, the scent of female arousal quickly filling the room as oozed its way out and onto the mixture, now turning a startling shade of pink.

The lack of money was an issue too. It wasn't like what she needed just…grew on trees after all. At least not yet they didn't. Soon though. Very soon, if she had her way. It would deal quite handily with all that conceptual bullshit she had to go through every time she needed to make something new. Her mother's wardrobe only had so much stuff to go around and after that, she was going to be sunk until she was sixteen…or she had her dad buy what she needed.

A full body shudder ran through her and she almost threw up into the pot, barely swallowing it back before she ruined weeks of work.

If it came down to her dying horribly or asking her dad to buy ten pounds of anal beads…she'd rather die.

A counterclockwise stir of the ladle and a couple of rose petals turned the goo into a shining liquid, sinking through the ladle as if it wasn't even there when she pulled it out. Satisfied that the potion was as good as it was going to get she held up an old leotard of hers, a holdover from the gymnastics kick she'd gone through when she was ten and set it down into the pot before taking a seat on a chair—also stolen from the kitchen—and leaning back, fiddling with the hem of her skirt and just relaxing as she waited for it to finish soaking.

It had taken her a whole month to get as far as she had. Gathering the items she needed, preparing and harvesting them for their conceptual weight according to the movements of the moon and stars. Timing the addition of each and every ingredient, dividing them into nearly atomically exact samples through the use of arcane sciences and arithmetic, capable of driving any sane and rational scientist stark-raving mad without the proper safeties. She'd done things. Terrible things to get as far as she had.

Her mother's wardrobe had featured in a great deal of her nightmares these past few weeks. She loved her mother, may she forever rest in peace…but she'd always remember the fact that she'd had to go shoulder deep, just so that she could pull a fifteen-inch horse cock out from under a pile of other, similarly sized marital aids. Things like that…they stayed with you. Forever.

After a minute or two of staring into space as she relived what was possibly the second or third worst experience of her life she startled, almost tilting the chair back far enough to throw it, and herself with it, back onto the floor as a hot pink glitter cloud blew up in her face. Taking a bit more time, she sat there with a hand on her chest, waiting for her heartbeat to go back to a normal rate and the cloud to dissipate before she stood up and looked into the pot.

A check was in order.

"Black..." Taylor mumbled as she slid her hands into the pot and ran her fingers through the dark material at the very bottom, "Smooth, almost liquid texture…strength and durability are good…Bespoke alteration is functional...reflex, minor precog, chameleon and disguise enchantments are holding steady…make a note here," a pen flipped itself upright and laid itself against paper, already scribbling as Taylor lifted her greatest achievement to date into the open air with a smile on her face. "Huge success." She frowned a little. "Even if it is a little…skimpy."

Once again her lack of resources had come around to bite her on her cute little ass. If she'd had her way her first costume would have been something a little more concealing than a leotard…but the spell called for a skintight outfit and she hadn't had many of those. Not after she'd burned through them in a manic quest for self-improvement anyway.

Taylor cursed, hissing under her breath as her last pair of Armsmaster underwear gave up the ghost, a twist of the waist breaking the elastic with a loud snap.

She might have gone a little overboard.

"It's not that it won't fit, no." She continued talking, professional in speech and tone even as she stepped out of her underwear and threw it into the cloth bin, unbuttoning her blouse and unzipping her skirt along the way. "Or that it breaks any decency laws thanks to the ruling of the Narwhal vs. The State of Michigan case in the year of 2007…" She stretched out the crotch of the leotard as far as it would go. "Or most importantly, that it's too small to anchor the spells woven into the fabric," She winced as she reached the end... Which really wasn't that far at all. "In fact the small size helps with stability, keeping it from getting overtaxed by the larger surface area that would come with a larger, more concealing costume…no matter how much I wish it weren't so."

The notebook flipped a page as Taylor stepped into her leotard, shivering at the feel of the fluid fabric against her skin. Then she giggled, awkward and uncomfortable as she felt it slide in between her cheeks in a Broadway-worthy rendition of the world's clingiest thong—Bravo—and over her breasts and the lips of her sex before closing up seamlessly with a thought.

"It's just that…well..." She groaned, mortified as she looked into a full-length mirror.

I look like a stripper.

The Bespoke alteration looked like it had cut some corners. Her costume was thin, much thinner than it should be. Nearly transparent in some spaces. Other spots had no fabric at all. Like her legs and hips. The tops of her breasts and her ass. Oh god her ass. Her Battle Leotard didn't even bother trying to cover it up, leaving it completely bare as the fabric rode up and hid, only reappearing at the very top to rejoin the rest of her outfit.

Taylor wasn't what anyone would call narcissistic. She didn't wear makeup, preen or strut or stare at the mirror for hours on end. Not even close. But goddamn.

"You could bounce a brick off of that ass," Taylor whispered, her hand flashing out and grabbing the pen before it could start writing things that she'd have to redact when she wrote her memoirs. "Um…yes." Taylor coughed, resetting then letting the pen go on its merry way, "It's not what I was expecting to wear on my first night out, is all."

It had been three months already. Three months of jogging, bi-monthly fitness enhancing drinks and tonics to tone her muscles and increase her stamina—she had abs now—and Taylor coughed again, free self-defense classes at the local women's shelter.

If she put it all together…it still wasn't all that impressive. Mostly just embarrassing. But that was okay! That is what the suit was for. To make all of those embarrassing things not as embarrassing…which it was failing at.

Embarrassingly. There was a lot of that going around lately.

"So far, besides the aforementioned lack of cover, everything seems to be in order." Taylor breathed out and clenched her fists, "Activating suit calibration…now."

One breath, two breaths, three…and a hint of suction around her breasts and crotch.

Taylor blinked and waited. One breath, two breaths, three…and nothing. That wasn't as nearly as bad as she'd thought it would be.

"Was—was that it?" Taylor ran a hand over her suit with a sigh of relief and fell back into the kitchen chair with a laugh, "I was honestly expecting the Mana exchange to be much more invasive, considering the magical base." Another laugh. "I guess I was just worrying over nothing after all."

Taylor choked right after finishing her little speech, her face gone wide-eyed and pale at the feeling of something shifting, moving and spreading the lips of her pussy, grabbing and squeezing even while something else attached itself to her nipples. The light suction was much stronger now as she felt yet another thing fit itself snugly against her entrance.

"Oh… Never mind then." Taylor kept on narrating even as a drop of nervous sweat slid down her brow and she spread her legs a little wider, looking down in between them and the still seemingly completely normal, if slightly puckered, fabric there. "It seems that my expectations were spot on. Anything I say past this point will most likely be swears or pleas for mercy and prayers offered up to a higher this will be the end for now. End notation."

It looked like all those stretching exercises she'd been doing lately—like plenty of things she'd been doing lately—were actually going to pay off, Taylor thought as the pen dropped to the desk and rolled off onto the floor.

Please be gentle.

There was a brief moment's hesitation before she felt it start to push, dipping it's metaphorical toe in the water as it poked inside and pulled back out, testing how warm the 'water' was and teasing her with every gentle stroke.

Taylor bit her lip and moaned as she felt herself moisten, her nipples hardening and her slit becoming puffy and flushed as the suit kept her spread open, defenseless as it started to vibrate against her inner lips, her breasts and the crotch of her leotard noticeably shivering.

This wasn't so bad.

Taylor's eyes got even wider if that was even possible, and she squealed, her bare feet scrabbling at the basement floor, instinctively trying to escape the sudden feeling of her outfit slipping under the hood of her clitoris to attack the slowly swelling bundle of nerves directly.

"Oh my god wait! Too fast, too fast!" A series of gentle taps to her clit threw her to the floor when she kicked harder than she meant to, not even noticing the back of her head cracking against the ground. A small feeling of accomplishment ran through her now that she knew that the protections worked, one that was quickly washed away, becoming only a minor distraction to the feeling of her clit being drawn forcefully from its shelter and toyed with.

She lost it when the tendril at her pussy finally pushed it's way into her and didn't pull back. Pushing itself onward, twirling and writhing just to get that little bit further; it's progress obvious by the bulging, moving parts of her abdomen. Taylor screamed and bucked her hips, the crotch of her costume darkening with her fluids, completely soaked through but already drying, disappearing into the suit's hungry maw.

Taylor knew that something like this should hurt, and hurt badly for a girl like her. A fifteen-year-old girl with little experience, the little she had all from toys that hadn't gone nearly as deep, that hadn't been big enough or moved hard enough to shift the flesh of her stomach.

The only toys capable of doing so had been her mother's favorites…which explained why that particular hole in her education hadn't been filled yet.

She couldn't wash them hard enough.

"Fuck!" Taylor grit her teeth and slapped her hands against the ground, leaving a series of spiderweb cracks; arching her back and holding back another scream as she felt the head of the tendril kiss the opening of her cervix and start to expand, locking itself into place as it was designed to do.

It should hurt. But it didn't. Her magic wouldn't allow it to hurt, not if she didn't want it to. And she definitely didn't want it to hurt. That wasn't her thing. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

Another orgasm wracked Taylor's young body, her eyes rolling into the back of her head and a thin whine escaping her mouth. Her clit stood out in stark relief against the otherwise flat fabric of her suit, sucked into a vacuum and massaged; mercilessly milking her of everything she had even as she grabbed at her crotch and pulled, her efforts at pulling it away from her body completely useless as her leotard drank its fill.

A couple of minutes felt like forever. An eternity of vibrations and pumping and pulsing and sucking, forcing her to cum over and over, not even the suit's hunger able to keep her juices from splashing onto the floor in a delicious puddle. She only had enough air to survive, the excess used up in pleasure filled screams and moans when it finally ended. When the suit let go of her swollen nipples and pumped up clit; the tendril in her pussy lay still, keeping her plugged and her puffy lips stretched tight around it.

She lay there for a minute, basting in her own juices and panting, not entirely sure that trying to stand up right now would be the best idea. Her theory proved to be true when she tried getting up after the minute was over and she landed on her face.

"... Shit." Taylor mumbled into the flooring before flipping herself over onto her back again. "Note to self." Taylor could hear her pen rattling under the bottom of the desk it had rolled under, unable to even conceive of the idea that it was possible to get around something rather than through it before Taylor cut the power with a huff. That was the problem with self-animated objects. No imagination. "Losing all feeling in your legs isn't just a euphemism…and I need to remember to set some time and water aside before I calibrate any new suits. Or wear them, just to be safe."

She wouldn't be forgetting that note anytime soon.

Reaching a hand up, Taylor placed it onto the top of a nearby workbench and used it to pull herself up, surprised despite herself at just how easy it was to do as she pulled her feet back under herself so that she could lean while she waited for her legs to wake up.

Taylor could feel everything working at full capacity now through her connection to the suit. Everything was running at max, a slight drain on her magical reserves the only, negligible, side effect.

Taylor leaned forward and her left eye twitched as her interface with the suit became clear. She hadn't noticed earlier, too busy cumming her brains out to remember her own name, let alone notice if anything had changed… but now that she had a bit of time to think…

"Silly me," Taylor hooked a finger under the crotch of her leotard and let it go, the sight of one of her distended labia and the pleasurably full feeling in her gut all the evidence she needed. "Of course that's how it works. A Mana transference device, suit interface, and Lust generator all in one... and all it needs to do is mold itself to the insides of my pussy... It's official then." Taylor placed her head in her hands. "I am the world's sluttiest superhero."

She wanted to die. To just have the earth open and swallow her up…sadly that was probably not going to happen. So she was just going to have to go with the next best thing.

"... I think I'll just stay home tonight. Eat some ice cream." Because ice cream made everything suck less. "'Cause the way this is going I'd end up fighting Lung or something…in a stripper outfit…on my first night out... What am I even doing with my life?" she muttered to herself as she turned towards the stairs so she could just grab a bucket of Chunky Monkey and sulk for a while.

Said turn resulted in her slipping on the floor and looking up at the ceiling for the third time that night. "Why?" Taylor started to sniffle as she sat up and—carefully—made her way up the stairs.

Chunky Monkey first. Mopping later. Being a hero could wait another night.

It's not like her not going out tonight was going to change anything.