Her first night on the schedule, Linza felt nervous right until the first patron came through the door. 

But as the slender old man with the kind face had kneeled respectfully on the mat, Linza’s nerves melted away.

His wife had died some years prior. He couldn’t bring himself to touch anyone other than her. And he had no interest in summoning a specter of her. Rather, there was a game that both of them had liked. They had been gardeners and had been fond of imagining their prize rose bushes come to life and returning some of the loving attention that he and his wife lavished upon them.

No thorns for him—just plump blossoms and stroking tendrils.

Linza imaged the sunny afternoons, the gentle touches. The tender affection, the perfume of roses in the air. She started with the static illusions, simple cantrips. He provided a few additional details, and she wove those in.

And then she cast the spell that brought the tendrils to life. They wrapped around his shaft as rose petals rained from the air.

The old man lasted all of five minutes and climaxed with just a quiet sigh. Linza was happy to have brought him a bit of peace.

The second guest, a middle-aged woman, preferred to warm up for a while before her session, and she reclined in a velvet chaise. Linza simply waited, her mind wandering to fantasies of her own. As the woman’s breathing quickened, she requested that a harem of handsome young men wearing golden collars gather around her to masturbate and cum on her as she climaxed.

Linza obliged, giving these men an especially desperate and pleading demeanor, thick shafts already dripping, which she thought this woman would like.

The woman climaxed nearly as soon as the men appeared. They spurted a veritable fountain over her—the hot and slippery texture would feel totally real, though no clean-up would be required, so it was really quite convenient. 

There were still several minutes left in the illusion, so Linza had them lick their cum off of the woman, much to her continued delight.

And then, as abruptly as her shift had begun, it was over. Just two guests, so that she wasn’t pushing her capacity so harshly if one or the other session ran over. Linza reviewed the schedule to see that there were about twenty other illusionists on staff, and each took only two or three guests per day. Some illusionists were booked out weeks in advance, since supply was so limited.

Linza rode the trolley home, collapsed into bed, and woke up just in time to scurry into her day job without being late.

Of course, that meant that she had not yet released her own accumulated arousal, not from her work the evening prior and not from the dreams of octopus mermaids that had filled the rest of her night.

So, she rubbed one out in the washroom again.

And so the next day.

And the next.