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I Put a Spell on You

By: Munachi



For everyone that enters this story through the contest site, rather than through the category: This story is a Non-Consent story, if you don't like that type of story, you have been warned. For everyone else, I hope you enjoy my story.

~~~~~

I put a spell on you

I can't keep my eyes off him. There is just something about the way he moves, the way he looks absentmindedly out the window when we are reading or writing, the soft voice with which he explains our assignments, even the way he speaks when he is angry because someone is talking during class again.

I never pay attention to what he is talking about; my grades have deteriorated considerably since he took over the class. All I can do is stare at him and try not to let the thoughts flooding through my mind overwhelm me. When I see his mouth all I can think of is how soft his lips must feel on mine. When his green eyes rest on me for a moment, usually with a reproaching look because once again I am not taking notes, my heart starts beating faster.

I'd love to run my fingers through his dark hair. While he speaks of national romance in the 19th century or of text analysis or of what-do-I-know, all I can think of is how it must feel like to bury my face against his chest, or kiss the soft skin of his neck, and breathe in his smell, which so far I only know as a fleeting note in the air when he walks by my desk.

For a moment I close my eyes and let my desire fill out every part of me, this sweet and painful longing. Sometimes it surprises me that nobody notices. My desire is so strong it should change the air in the room. With every new thought of him I can smell the juices flowing in me -- how can nobody else notice?

And he -- how can you be desired as much by someone as I desire him, and not notice? Shouldn't all this longing I feel each time I see him, touch him too, reach out to him, take hold of his heart and fill it with the same desire I feel?

He stands in front of the class, his face unmoving. He never knows how much I wish for everyone else to be gone, for us to be the only two people left, and then for him to take hold of me, throw me to the floor or onto the desk in front of the classroom, his desk. His arms look strong and I am sure the grip of his long fingers must be firm. He'd push me onto his desk, and then...

***

The doors of rooms all around opened, and within seconds hundreds of young men and women filled the long corridor. Some were walking in groups, chattering happily. Others were alone, with books under their arms, looking tired or stressed.

Some seemed in a rush, running to their next class, or into the bathroom. Others walked leisurely to the exit of the building, stepping through the big gate into the open to catch a bit of fresh air.

A red haired girl with a somewhat dreamy expression on her face wrapped herself more tightly into her thick black coat -- despite the sunshine and blue sky one could feel that summer was gone. The October air was cold. Slowly she walked down the stairs and into the small park in front of the University building.

It was an old building, one that showed off its history and importance with every ornamented bay window. It seemed to be heavy of all the thinking that had occurred inside, of all the important people that had told their ideas to hundreds and thousands of students in the great lecture halls. The park, on the other hand, was light and green. Decades or maybe even centuries ago some ingenious headmaster had it laid out here to offer the young learners a counterweight to the seriousness of the university, to give them a chance to breathe.

Under tall trees stood wooden benches, the ground around them covered in brown leaves. In summer the students sat in groups on the grass, discussing politics and the newest gossip, or strolled along on the paths. Now, only a few of the benches were occupied and the girl didn't have to go far before she found one that was secluded enough to feel unwatched.

She sat down, ignoring the fact that the bench was still slightly moist from last night's rain. Her coat was thick enough to protect her. She put her backpack next to herself, opened it, and started rummaging inside until she pulled out a thick book that looked like it hadn't been taken out of the library for decades until she had found it.

And quite probably this was true -- she herself had only found it by coincidence, yesterday, when she had gone there to study but as usual had become bored very quickly and had started to walk along the rows of books instead, reading each title, exploring corners of the huge library that students seldom ventured into. It was as if this book had been waiting for her, laced there for her to find, and the title jumped out at her. How to get what you desire.

At first she had assumed it was another of those pseudo-psychological books designed to make people feel better about themselves, claiming to teach them how to survive better in this modern world. However, as she realized the next moment, this book looked much too old for that. It was bound in leather and the title was painted onto it in fading gold letters. When she opened it, the print looked old fashioned, and she couldn't find anything to tell when and where it had been printed -- that alone indicated that it must be old, she thought.

And thus she had hid it in her backpack -- she was sure that a book this old wasn't allowed to be taken out of the library, but she wanted to be alone when she read it. With a beating heart she had left the library, and like through a miracle no alarm had gone off, no one had caught her.

She hadn't dared to take it out of her backpack when she got home, however -- she was sharing an apartment with three other girls, all of them always curious and always in a chatty mood, she didn't want any of them to suddenly burst into her room to tell her the newest gossip only to catch her reading this mysterious book. It was hers, and hers alone to read. She didn't want to share. So instead she had left it in her backpack to read it in the park, after class.

The book on her lap, she looked around. Her corner of the park was as empty as she had hoped, and a high hedge seemed to protect her from the curious looks of those that sat on the benches closer to the university building. Here she was safe. It was time to open the book.

She hesitated, felt her heart beating. Somewhere in her head a little voice told her that this might not be a good idea. Nonsense! she answered back. What could be dangerous of a book? Most likely it was going to be more of the usual talk of self confidence and being focused, anyway.

Her heart beating yet more wildly, she took hold of the front cover and swung it open. Dust rose up and made her cough. The front page was blank, of course. She turned it, and turned the next page that repeated the book's title. Then she found a table of contents.

How to gain a fortune. How to reach power. How to reach fame. Revenges that last. How to plant desire in a woman's heart. How to make her your own. How to plant desire in a man's heart.

How to plant desire in a man's heart. That was it! She skipped over all the other chapters. Fortune, power, fame, revenge -- all this didn't interest her right now. She held her breath as she started reading.

You have to be sure that there is no desire for you in his heart already. If he desires you in any way, the spell will feast on that desire...

She hesitated. Did the book say spell? She read again, and then went back to the first chapter of the book. Yes, it was a spell book apparently. Disappointment flooded through her. It wasn't one of those advice books as she had feared, that at least was true -- but this... She had hoped for something real.

What... though... what if it was real? She had always thought there was something more to this world than people can see, or than science can explain. What if this book indeed held the answer to her problem? And if it wasn't... What did she have to lose? 

She turned the page back to the chapter she had been looking at, and started reading again.

You have to be sure that there is no desire for you in his heart already. If he desires you in any way, the spell will feast on that desire, increase it thousand fold, and the result will be much stronger than what you expected.

She paused. Could it be possible that he did desire her already? No. With a bitter feeling, she remembered how he seemed to often look past her like she didn't exist, unless he was reprimanding her for not taking notes, or for being unable to answer a question. He probably didn't even know her name, or remember her as soon as he left the class room. He didn't desire her. Yet.

This spell has to be well prepared. The final part is best carried out on a special day, like Christmas Eve, Midsummer, or All Hallow's Eve.

Again, she looked up. It was the middle of October already. Halloween wasn't too far away. She wouldn't have to wait long. Excited, she read on.

***

She is beautiful the way she is sitting there, her crush all too obvious, as if her desire was written on her face, glancing at me whenever she thinks I don't see it. It's another sunny day, not like October at all, and the light from outside is falling through the window right to where she sits as if she were in a spotlight. The sun gives her red hair a golden glow, almost like a halo, but I am sure she is not that innocent.

I ran into her this morning before my first class started, and she greeted me with words in a strange language, awkwardly pronounced.

"O sa fiu al tau. O sa fiu al tau. O sa fiu al tau."

Before I could give her a quizzical look, she was gone. Now she is sitting at her desk staring at her papers, but looking up at me each time she thinks I am not looking. Have I noticed before how soft her pale skin looks, how blue her eyes are, how perfect her body is even when it is hidden under these thick winter clothes? Her hands are small with fine fingers, I can't stop wondering what their touch must feel like on my face, on my back, on my...

How am I supposed to keep speaking with all these thoughts racing through my head? I have to concentrate, I am supposed to lecture here, the other students will notice.

There, now she caught me looking at her and smiles for just a moment. She is even more beautiful when she smiles... Just for a second though, now she is already looking down at her papers again.

***

Your first incantation will have opened your way into his heart. When he looks at you now, he will see you just as you want him to see you. Your own desires will be reflected in him, he will want you as much as you want him.

It had worked! She had seen the look on his face, how he blushed when she smiled back. And when she was looking back down on her papers, she knew he kept looking at her. She had recognized the desire in his eyes.

Tenderly she held the book in her hands. This was so much better than all advice books taken together. This was the real thing. He would be hers.

For a moment she wondered if she should stop here. His interest was aroused, she could tell. She could just smile at him in class every now and then, wait for him to ask her out, maybe even ask him herself and continue things the normal way.

On the other hand the normal way usually meant waiting for phone calls, worrying whether he was really interested, and even if things went well, in the end the normal way always meant heartbreak. He was interested, yes, but how could she be sure his interest was going to last? It was better to go on. Her eyes returned to the book.

The incantations were becoming more complicated, and since she had so little time left until Halloween she had to find the right moments to say them quickly. Also, she had to find all kinds of strange herbs. Interestingly, none of those had to be given to him -- she had to make teas for herself, and keep some in the corners of her room. Maybe this was supposed to have an effect on her so that she would seem even more desirable to him?

She closed the book and put it back into her backpack. Just in time, a group of students seemed to have found their way into her corner of the park. Between them was one of the girls she shared the apartment with. But she barely glanced at her -- she had been too withdrawn in the last days, it seemed. Everybody tried to leave her in peace now. All the better.

She got up from her bench and walked back towards the university building. Just in time, it seemed. The beautiful sunshine, that had made this October seem more like August so far was now hidden behind thick, gray clouds, and the first few raindrops started hitting the concrete stairs as she climbed them.

***

Just a pinch of this herb, the book says. Oh, that was a bit much. Well, it doesn't matter. I want him to want me a lot. So a bit more won't hurt.

Strange how the weather has turned. It seems to be raining all the time now. Well, I suppose that is normal this time of year. But it sure is dark all the time, lately.

Only three more days. I wonder what he will look like naked. I wonder if his lips feel as soft as they appear. I wonder how strong his arms feel -- in summer, when he was wearing short sleeved shirts, I could see muscles.

Imagine, me on all fours, and he behind me, his hands on my hips, and...

Or, him pressing me against the wall, kissing me, or his hot breath on my neck, maybe he bites me there, just a little bit before he...

Or both of us on a soft bed with satin sheets, in candle light, looking lovingly into each other's eyes, while...

It seems that together with his desire, my own longing is growing too. Maybe that is part of the spell? After all, our desires are supposed to reflect each other. Maybe I should lock myself into my room for a bit, take the edge off... But no, all this I am feeling is for him. Only three more days, I can wait that long.

Now a tiny bit of... oh no, it's too much again. Oh well, more is better, right?

***

The day before Halloween she could hardly eat anything, or concentrate on reading her assignments, or keep up with the conversation of her flat mates. All she could think of was the next day. Tonight she was going to say one more incantation while in her own room, which would cause him to ask her out tomorrow, and then, when she was with him, the last part of the spell was going to be spoken.

She worried a bit what he would think when she suddenly started chanting in a strange language -- but the book said it wouldn't matter, the spell would cause him to be too overwhelmed by his desire for her to care about such things.

It felt as if this was the last day of her old life, as if tomorrow the world would be different. She was almost tempted to say good bye to her friends, but they would of course still be there the day after tomorrow, when she would return to her room -- she was not planning on sleeping at home tomorrow night.

She joined the other girls for dinner in the kitchen; they had pasta, like most days. The taste stirred something in her -- again this feeling like she was saying good bye to an old world, because tomorrow all would be different.

"Don't you want to come to?"

The question tore her from her thoughts.

"What...?" she asked, confused.

"The party! Tomorrow is Halloween, have you forgotten?"

"Let her be!" another of her flat mates laughed. "She's somewhere else... She hasn't really been herself for weeks now."

"Yeah, what's it with you lately?" the first one inquired.

"I bet she is in love!"

She blushed at these words, but shook her head. This wasn't for the others to know yet.

"Anyway," one of them continued. "We're all going to this party tomorrow and just wanted to know if you want to join us."

"I... maybe..." she couldn't very well tell them she had a date for tomorrow if he hadn't actually asked her out yet. "I am not sure if I will feel like it, but I might."

This answer seemed to be good enough for them, and they returned to chatter between themselves while she finished her dinner, eager to get back to the peace and quiet of her own room.

A few hours later when the noise in the house had died down, she lit candles and positioned them as required. She burned an offering of herbs, as instructed. Then, while kneeling on the floor, she closed her eyes and whispered, her voice trembling with excitement:

"O sa dispar din lumea asta, o sa ma uitati, totii. Niciodata n-o sa ma cautati. O sa fiu al lui, doar al lui, si voi totii uitati ca m-ati cunoscut..."

The spell went on for hours it seemed to her, and when she was finally done she sank into bed exhausted, but happy. The rest was up to him, but she was sure tomorrow it would happen.

***

I can't stop thinking of her. The way she was looking at me yesterday in class. So full of expectation, somehow. I wish she was here right now, I can almost picture her, naked, lying on my bed, looking at me with those eyes...

I must have the list somewhere. I always let the students write down their names, email addresses and phone numbers at the beginning of the semester. You never know whether you might need to contact them. Ah yes, here it is. And here is her number. Even reading her name on the list, in her own handwriting, excites me.

Of course a girl like her is likely to already have plans for Halloween. But something tells me she doesn't. The way she looked at me today...

Where's my phone?

***

"Hey! It's for you!"

She looked up into the smiling face of the girl that had just burst into her room, holding out the phone to her.

"Thanks."

With trembling fingers she accepted the phone, moved it to her ear slowly, almost apprehensively.

"Yes?"

"Hello! It's..."

It was him! She recognized the voice before he even said his name. Her heart started beating wildly; she had trouble listening to what he was saying. Some excuse about why he was calling her and where he had got her number from, she supposed.

"So... What do you think?"

There was a second's pause before she realized he expected her to respond.

"Could... could you repeat that?" she asked, blushing, though fortunately he couldn't see that through the phone.

He laughed. "My place. Tonight. I don't feel like going to any big Halloween party. I'd prefer to cook something nice and invite you over for dinner."

She knew she should be alarmed that he invited her to his place right away. Other than seeing him in class, she barely knew him. She didn't usually go to strange men's places. But this was probably just the spell working -- and saying the last part of the incantation was going to be so much easier at his home than in a restaurant with many other people around.

"Sure!" she agreed. "I'd love to. Can you give me your address, then?"

***

Why does my heart beat like this as I walk towards his house? It's a big and old house, almost a mansion, and quite in the middle of nowhere at the edge of the forest, I had to take the bus to the last stop and then walk another ten minutes, maybe I should have asked him to pick me up at my place instead... But somehow it seems that all this is just like it should be. I don't know why but I feel like I couldn't do this any other way. He told me to come here, and here I am. Maybe it's the spell, maybe that's how it works.

The cold October air gives me a feeling of being alive. I always liked the wind in my face, and I don't mind the rain either, except that the puddles and wet leaves get my shoes dirty and the rain messes up my hair. I don't think I ever spent that much time to get ready for a date. Usually I just assume that if they like me, they like me as I am, but somehow this is different. It's silly, really -- he's the one under a spell, right? Even covered in old rags and mud he's supposed to still find me the most beautiful woman in the world. And yet I want to look nice for him as I never wanted for anyone else.


I Put a Spell on You



This is my entry into the 2013 Halloween Story Contest. -- Carlie Plum

*

Brandt carefully drew a diagonal line across the square marked 25 on his October calendar. True, the day wasn't over yet, but he had his messenger bag across his shoulder and he was headed out the door. Chris Tickman, another quant asked, "Another day, another dollar, Brandt? Or are you counting up the number of days you've been Brandt the Quant?"

Brandt the Ant had been an annoying nickname, but his name actually rhymed with ant. Now that annoying little toad in the next cubicle thought it was amusing to mispronounce his name so it would rhyme with the short form of their job title: quantitative analyst. Brandt didn't answer. It was such easy magic, really, just a few whispered words and Chris's tongue would cleave to the roof of his mouth. He could even make it temporary, a few days, max. But those weren't the terms. One year without magic. That was the punishment he had agreed to before coming here. He'd had two warnings for magicking above his level before his sentence was passed down. If he had only learned to suffer fools then as he was doing now. He would have let Ainsley brag about his accomplishments without showing everyone that the blowhard couldn't even keep up with his own level while he, Brandt, could outpace him although he was a good year and a half younger. 

Chris stopped teasing him, his eyes studiously on his desk as the sound of footsteps, or more specifically, a very familiar set of footsteps made by long-legged strides and Christian Louboutin heels echoed in the hallway that led the quantitative analysis department. Even three weeks ago, odds were Taylor Gillis would be looking for Brandt--his failure to make the mistakes his fellow quants made frustrated her. With nothing to bully him about, she simply piled twice as much work on Brandt as she did his coworkers, hoping to trip him up with volume. None of her tactics had worked--not in the five months Brandt had been at Dandridge, Samuels, Woodbury, and Gillis Wealth Management Partners. But after what he'd done at last week's partners' meeting, no one had any doubt who she would be looking for. 

Taylor didn't even look at him anymore. Just dropped the large stack of files and instructions and stalked off in the other direction before announcing to her waiting boyfriend, some utterly forgettable hedge fund manager who looked like a football player but didn't talk about anything that wasn't covered in the financial pages, that she was ready to go out to dinner.

Brandt snapped his computer screen back on and sent a quick email to Susan that he wouldn't be by that night. She wasn't waiting for him, of course. She had her own life and what they had was merely a convenient friends-with-benefits arrangement that suited them both. Next, he turned to the stack of papers Taylor had left. The worst of it was he could be done with it in an hour, error-free and ready for the full Gillis shake-down treatment, but since it would take the best of the other quants a full three hours to work through the stack, he was stuck here for that long, dragging out the work in between bouts of thinking about home and wondering how he had gotten himself in this mess. 

The magicking mess was easy. If Zia hadn't been there, watching Ainsley, enthralled by his claims, Brandt would have kept his mouth shut. He thought he had learned his lesson from the furor that had erupted the first time he had broken the rules about staying within your age group's approved skills, even if your abilities had already progressed beyond them. But when the girl you wanted to marry was looking that way at another guy, well, logic sometimes went out the window. The mess with Taylor was equally simple. In the time since he'd started with the wealth management firm, he'd never seen her be anything but rude, condescending, and demeaning to anyone who wasn't a partner or one of the rich old birds they helped make richer. The receptionist, the quants, the secretaries, the janitor, even the doorman, were either ignored or abused by her razor-sharp tongue, depending which of the two wrong sides of her bed she woke up on that morning. Of all the valuable lessons he had learned from his father, one of those he held closest was that the possession of power obligated one to act with care and concern for those one outranked. And from a woman who offered nothing as far as he could see but the fact that her rich family knew a slew of other rich people who were willing to put their estates in the hands of the firm because she worked there, because they golfed with her father or played tennis with her mother, or belonged to the same asinine clubs or secret societies, well, he only had so much self-control. 

His disgust with her had been rising almost since the first day, and it hadn't been helped along by her constant taking credit for other people's work and trashing them when she couldn't. So when she'd unveiled a new trading strategy at weekly team meeting, which she'd made a point of saying she'd developed all on her own, he couldn't keep his mouth shut. Well, actually, he did keep his mouth shut, since he saw the problem on the third page of the Excel spreadsheet being projected onto the wall, but waited until page 16 to say anything. "Excuse me, Ms. Gillis," he'd said ever-so-politely, "I think there is a small mistake in your scenario. On page 3, you listed selling Eagle Industries when it went to $5 a share, but they did a three-for-one reverse stock split last week." 

"Well, we only have a small position in Eagle," she'd responded testily. "I'll make the change, but it shouldn't affect the model much." He'd seen a few of the quants look to the side as they bit down on their lips, anticipating what was about to happen. Taylor jumped back to page three, made the change, and started clicking forward through the pages of numbers as the complex financial models underlying them recalibrated. As she clicked through the document, the spreadsheets updated based on the radically different stock value and the position that was larger than Taylor thought, row upon row and column upon column changing from black to red. Not all red, but when she finally stopped clicking on page nine, it looked to be running at least 60 percent losses. 

"You fucking prick," she'd hissed at him, "I'll get you for this," before the meeting was abruptly adjourned, and Samuels, who was a pretty okay guy for a partner, hurried him out of the room. She'd made good on her promise though. She couldn't fire him, because she wasn't his boss and even after a few months there his value to the company was more than proven. But for three weeks, she had proven she could make him miserable, piling him high with work most nights at quitting time and saving the most mind-numbing and tedious jobs exclusively for him. 

Brandt set another folder in the completed pile, and then contemplated the calendar again. October 31 was just a few days away, maybe, just maybe. . . He knew they kept an eye on him, making sure he didn't use any of his abilities, but with All Hallows Eve coming up, that would be harder to do. Witches, warlocks, magickers, clairvoyants, elves, Little People, people who could speak with the dead and people who were, at least by the definition of his current plane of existence, dead, slipped out of place, into planes like this one where things like those didn't exist except in imitation. In a city like New York on October 31, the energy created by the one small spell that was clearly taking shape in his mind would fall like a raindrop into the ocean, unnoticed by anyone but himself and Taylor Gillis, and for her, when it was all over, it would seem like a foggy, half-forgotten dream. By the time he finished with the last file and returned it to Taylor's office, his plan had taken shape.

Walking back to his apartment, he shook his head ruefully at the Harry Potter marathon being advertised at the movie theater down the block from his apartment. He imagined that there were some schools like that somewhere--Latin spells and eyes of newt and all that bit--but it would only play as a comedy where he was from. Every man--and a few women--had the ability to magic, but no one went to school for it. You went to school to learn reading, writing, and arithmetic, and later to get a degree in whatever profession you planned to pursue. Magicking was just a skill one developed, with age and practice, a matter of learning to focus the mind to use that energy to reprogram reality. No magic wands or fancy cloaks needed.

What Brandt did need was something to hold the magic he would make. The Saturday before Halloween, he stopped into an upscale pawn shop, the sort of place where people who had once had money went to sell their things when the cash ran low. There were cases and cases of jewelry, old wedding rings, pieces glittering with precious stones. He moved slowly down the row until he found exactly what he was looking for. A simple rectangle of platinum, the edges slightly rounded, hung from a platinum chain. It was delicate enough for a woman's neck, but didn't look fragile. Perfect. He paid and took it home before meeting his friend Susan for dinner and a roll in the sheets. As he lay beside her afterwards, sated, feeling happier than he could remember feeling since he came to this place, he thought of how different Monday night with Taylor was going to be. 

Taylor found the elegant velvet box next to her keyboard when she came back from a late lunch on the 31st. With a full inbox from just about every quant in the department, plus at least two partners she was pretty sure wanted in her pants, it was impossible to know if it was from someone in the office or a gift her boyfriend Steve had had delivered. The card that read "Trick or Treat" wasn't any clue; it was printed, not handwritten. As she slid her finger across the smooth platinum pendant, she felt a shiver of she didn't know what: energy? electricity? All she knew was that she needed to put it on. 

Brandt had been very specific when he had worked with the pendant. It transmitted only two thoughts to the wearer: want and obey, and both of those thoughts would be directed toward him. For Taylor, the experience was confusing, unsettling. Why was she thinking of that arrogant prick who had made her look bad in front of the whole firm. And why was she wet between the legs when she did? By four o'clock, she didn't know what to do with herself. After checking her hair and makeup in the mirror on the back of her office door, she walked down the hall to the offices where the quants had their cubicles. In her black sweater, black skirt, and knee-high stiletto boots, she resembled nothing so much as a black cat, Brandt mused as he watched her approach. A black cat in heat and, thanks to his work, interested in one tomcat only. 

"I got your email, Ms. Gillis" he greeted her quietly. This wasn't a conversation for the whole department's ears. "Of course I'd be happy to join you for coffee after work today to discuss the matter." 

Taylor felt half-drunk. She hadn't sent any email, didn't want to have coffee with a quant--she had an evening out with her boyfriend already planned--and yet the only word she could hear in her head was the word obey. She looked at Brandt and wanted to do nothing more than to straddle his lap and feel his cock between her legs. "Fine. I'll meet you at five o'clock at the elevator bay." 

Brandt turned over file after file, little caring that he was working at least double the speed of anyone around him, perhaps drawing unwanted attention to his "unnatural" abilities. He had never noticed Taylor's beauty before, the ugliness of her personality had blinded him to it until he had seen it uncovered by her animalistic desire. The office emptied, coworkers departing early for Halloween parties and private engagements, until he was left alone in the office. 

"There's a coffee shop around the corner that has live jazz in the evenings. I found one of the nights you had me here late, repaying me for your own mistake," he said evenly as he gripped Taylor's elbow and steered her into the elevator. Taylor felt the urge to slap him; no one spoke to her that way. But just as quickly, the urge passed, and she looked at the floor silently. Outside the building, Brandt stalked off toward the coffee shop, his long legs propelling him paces ahead of Taylor, who trailed behind him, walking quickly to keep up. For the second time, he thought of her as a black cat, but knowing that it didn't matter how many times she crossed his path, tonight her luck had run out. They drank their coffees without talking, just letting the music take the place of conversation. 

Brandt hailed a cab. "I'll see you home, if that's all right." 

"Of course," Taylor answered, wondering how she had ever been able to take her eyes off his face. The jet black hair, olive skin, deep-set eyes so brown they were almost black. Even in her heels, he towered a good five inches over her. They were silent in the cab, Taylor compelled to sit as close to him as she could, her leg touching his. When the cabbie dropped them off, he saw her to the door. 

"Have a good night, Taylor," he said as he quickly ran his thumb across the pendant, "I can get the subway from here." His touch triggered something he had added at the last minute, a small subroutine that gave Taylor a window to access her small amount of free will, to let him walk away. If some part of her didn't want him in her bed tonight, she would let him go. He turned, took a few steps down the sidewalk, got just four strides away, before she called him back. 

"Would you like to come up for a drink?" The window slammed shut.

Brandt glanced around the apartment, comparing it to the tiny space he inhabited. "Bourbon on the rocks," he said, flicking his hand toward the antique bar. "You know, you have a very big mouth. A very big mouth that you use to bully everyone around you. I think tonight I can find a better use for that mouth." Brandt gestured down to his fly. Taylor's head was spinning. She wanted to throw him out, and yet, she wanted his cock in her mouth, wanted to show him she understood the order his hand had clearly conveyed. She dropped to her knees, and unzipped his fly, reaching into his boxers to uncover his rapidly swelling member. He was going to enjoy this, he thought. He ran his hand through her hair, grabbing a handful to pull it away from her face as she stretched out her tongue and gave him a first lick, then engulfed his head in her mouth, her red lipstick a bright contrast to his pale skin. "That's right, let's keep your mouth full for a while so I don't have to listen to any more of your crap," Brandt told her as he thrust deeply into her. Taylor opened her mouth wide to receive him and moaned, her hand coming up to grip his shaft as she took him full in her mouth. The sensation was overwhelming, her mouth warm and moist around him as she curled her tongue up and pressed it against the underside of his cock. He slid in and out of her mouth, watching her still-red lips work their way down until they reached her fingers, then sliding back to the head, her tongue swirling all around him, across him. 

"That's right, just keep sucking. You'll know to stop when I fill your mouth with my cum." Brandt was breathing heavily, every sense attuned to the perfection of this moment. The sight of his tormenter, no longer in charge, on her knees in front of him, the feel of her lips tight around his shaft as she continued to suck him off. Brandt took a sip of bourbon, savoring the smoky taste and smell , the drink both cold from the ice and hot in his throat at the same time. He put the glass down on the bar. Focusing on the sensations that were welling up, a tingle at the base of his spine, his balls tightening up as they prepared to deliver a load of spunk into Taylor's hungry mouth. He grabbed her hair tighter and thrust once, twice, then felt the sweet release of his orgasm. "Swallow it," he ordered. 

When she finished, he zipped up his fly and led her out onto the glass-enclosed balcony. "Take off your bra and underthings, but leave your clothes on," he instructed, settling in to a plush armchair to watch her comply. Taylor unzipped her tall leather boots and stepped out of them, then bent over to remove her tights and panties. Her skirt stretched tight against her ass. Brandt felt himself growing hard again. How was it that he had never noticed that ass? "It's a shame that the ugliness of your behavior disguises your physical beauty." The words were like a slap against Taylor's face. She prided herself on her good looks, reveling in the power they gave her over men. Could it be true that Brandt didn't find her attractive? Didn't want her as she wanted him? She hurried to unzip her sweater, the platinum pendant falling against her skin, seeming to give off a small pulse as it made contact. She started to slide her arm out of her sweater, but Brandt corrected her. "I already told you, underwear off, clothes on," his voice mimicking the same mocking tone she so often used at the office. 

Taylor unsnapped the front of her bra, her full breasts springing free, the nipples dark pink against her white skin, made all the more pale by the contrast with her black sweater. Wiggling her hand up her sleeve, she was able to draw the strap off her shoulder and pull it back down the sleeve, then repeat the maneuver on the other side before dropping the bra to the floor and zipping her sweater back up. Brandt spread his legs a bit, then patted the chair: "Sit." 

Taylor settled back against Brandt, feeling his warmth, his strength. She looked out the windows. In the nearby apartments that were illuminated, she could see a few parties going on, and couples having dinner or watching TV. Brandt reached out his arm and flipped on the lamp next to him, bathing them in a pool of light. Now they were as visible as the people she had been watching. Taylor felt Brandt's hands reach up and unzip her sweater, pushing it open to reveal her breasts again. She started to protest, but Brandt spoke over her, "I don't remember telling you that you could talk." In her head she heard a single word: obey. "Lift your ass," Brandt instructed, as he pulled her skirt up, hiking it up high on her thighs and pushing her legs apart, leaving her exposed to anyone who might glance out one of the many windows of the other apartment buildings. Taylor shivered, thinking of the eyes that could be watching her. What if someone took a picture? She shuddered with worry. Brandt encircled Taylor with his arms. "You want this, don't you?" he asked. 

Taylor didn't know what she wanted. Part of her wanted to retreat back into the apartment, but part of her, a pulse somewhere at her center, simply wanted whatever Brandt wanted. At the moment, what Brandt wanted was to lift her breasts, cupping them and running a finger of each hand across her nipples. "Nice work," he commented. "Did you buy them yourself or were they a graduation present from Daddy?" Taylor bit her lip but didn't answer, embarrassed as she never had been that Brandt was right, her father had paid for her implants, calling them an investment in her future when she finished her MBA. Brandt twisted her nipples, pulling them away from her body and drawing a moan from her lips. He dropped his head to kiss her shoulder, then her neck, running his tongue across the platinum chain. The contact jolted Taylor, sending a wave of desire through her body that was like nothing she had ever felt. She lifted her ass off the chair, moaning more deeply and spreading her legs wider, inviting Brandt in.

One warm, firm hand left her breast and trailed down her stomach, then between her legs. "Brazilian . . . of course," Brandt said, in a tone that didn't sound like a compliment. Taylor was confused by his disapproval, but didn't have time to process a question before the hand between her legs had clasped around her mound. As Brandt moved his hand up and down, squeezing her lips firmly together, she felt the most delicious sensation of her own inner lips massaging her clit, touching it from every angle. She held as still as she could, hoping only that he wouldn't stop. He was probing deeper now, a finger running up and down her slit, spreading the juices that were already flowing out of her across her swelling lips. The finger found her clit, sliding up from the underside, knowingly teasing her most sensitive parts. She lifted her legs and put them over his, spreading her cunt obscenely wide. Brandt saw a couple in a window across the way looking at them, moving to the window and flicking off the light to get a better view of the show.




I Put a Spell on You



"You work a lot on yourself, don't you?" he asked, as his hand ran up and down her thigh, the other still teasing her clit deliciously. "The gym every morning, hair salon every month, nail salon every week. Not to mention your spa trips for sugar scrubs and wraps, whatever the hell that is. You certainly keep your assistant busy scheduling all your waxings and whatnot." Taylor wasn't sure if that was a compliment, either. Something in Brandt's tone of voice told her it wasn't. "Maybe if you worked as hard at the office as you do on yourself, you wouldn't have to steal other people's work and pass it off as your own." Taylor wanted to protest, but didn't know what to say, in part because she knew he was right, and it part because she was afraid if she talked back, he'd stop the delicious circles he was making around her hardening clit as his other hand slid down to the wet spot between her legs and began probing the opening. 

Two more apartments had noticed the show he was putting on for them now: another couple and a group of four guys who had been watching a football game before they noticed the action closer at hand. Brandt slid his middle and ring fingers deep into the tight slot between Taylor's legs, finding her g-spot and making sure he slid across it as he moved and out, never stopping the pressure he was putting on her clit. He had to speak louder to make sure she could hear him over her moans. "It's a nice show you are putting on for the neighbors." Taylor's hands flew up to cover her breasts. Brandt laughed. "Yes, you wouldn't want them to see your tits. It might distract them for the panoramic view of your cunt. Keep your hands there. Why don't you show them what sexy tits money can buy. I want you to play with your nipples. I bet you like it a little rough. Pull on them for the nice people watching, Taylor. Twist them and pinch them." Taylor was powerless to do anything but follow his instructions. Every time he spoke, she felt the necklace pulsing against her skin like a second heartbeat, willing her to obey him. If that weren't enough, she had never been finger-fucked so thoroughly or expertly. 

"Oh yes, so good," she whimpered. "I'm going to come. Oh, I'm going to come." Her taut stomach muscles tightened as she lifted her ass off the chair trying to get his hand further into her tight, wet cunt. Trying to increase the pressure on her hard clit. "Oh, I'm going to come. Please, don't stop." She was pulling furiously on her nipples now, pinching them so tightly that the tips turned white, then deep red when she released for a second, the blood flowing back into them. "Oh, I can't stop. I can't stop, I'm going to come." She could hear the slapping of his hand against her body as he forced his way up into her cunt, keeping up the pressure on her g-spot and clit. She was wailing now, grinding into his hand and clawing at her own breasts as she moved closer and closer to the coming orgasm, until, with a shudder and a wail, she spasmed hard, coming in gasping breaths, the walls of her cunt clamping down on Brandt's hand. Brandt waited a moment until the convulsion stopped, then stood up, dumping her unceremoniously on the floor. 

"I'll meet you in the bedroom. And I could use a fresh drink." 

Brandt had thrown a black silk chemise across the bed. He took the heavy crystal lowball glass from Taylor's hand. "Put that on," he gestured at the nightie. "And get your lube out."

"I don't think I'll need any lube," Taylor began.

"I want you to think even less than I want you to talk. Just get the lube." Brandt glanced at the clock. 8:45 p.m. The spell had been in place since about noon, and by early tomorrow morning it would be totally spent. Like a clock running down, its power was already ebbing. It would make the next few hours interesting. 

Brandt stripped, folding his clothes neatly and hanging them over the back of a chair as Taylor sat watching him from the bed, one foot tucked up underneath her, the other dangling over the edge of the bed. She felt nervous. Brandt was moving so slowly, so methodically. She wasn't used to a man who wasn't tripping over himself to share her bed. 

"Get on your hands and knees on the bed," Brandt ordered, as he tossed the bottle of lube down next to her. His cock jutted out in front of him, like a weapon. She scrambled to get into position and felt the bed creak and move as Brandt moved up behind her. He rested his glass in the small of her back, the base of it cool and damp through the thin fabric of her chemise. "Ah, I've finally found a use for you." Even as he spoke so snidely, he was rubbing the velvety head of his cock between her lips, still puffy and swollen from her earlier orgasm. Without warning, he split her, all of him sliding fully into her grasping cunt, then pulling out and plunging in again, only stopping now and again to take a drink of his bourbon, the ice clinking against the glass before he rested it again on her back and restarted his assault. 

The phone rang and then chirped mechanically, "Phone call . . . from . . . Steve Delcroix." 

"Oh shit," Taylor exclaimed. "I was supposed to meet Steve at a Halloween party." 

"Well, since you are standing him up, you should at least have the good manners to let him know." Brandt pulled his cock back, then plunged deep into her for her emphasis. "Tell him your calendar got unexpectedly . . . filled up." She moaned as his cock pressed hard against her g-spot, but pulled it together enough to answer the phone and rush out her excuses, even as Brandt continued sliding in and out of her desire-slicked cunt. She heard the bourbon glass, now empty, hit the floor, and the cap to the lube flip open. 

The slippery liquid dripped from the bottle and onto the crack of Taylor's ass. Brandt didn't speak as he continued fucking her slowly, while circling the tight brown ring of her asshole with his thumb. Taylor started to protest as he pressed into the virgin territory, but felt that same feeling she had when she first put on the pendant. Like a cat in heat she arched her back and pushed her ass up toward Brandt's hand, then reached back with her hands and spread her cheeks wantonly. 

The heat of Taylor's ass engulfed him as he slowly plumbed it with his thumb, getting her used to the feel of something pushing into that tight little hole. From the sounds she was making, it seemed that she was getting used to it very quickly. "You like that, don't you?" he teased, although it was clear from her ragged breath that she did. "Rub your clit while I finger your ass, you spoiled little brat. This must be quite the change from having your ass kissed." He punctuated his comment with a hard smack on her ass. 

Taylor released one of her cheeks and slid her hand between her legs and found her clit, stroking it in time to Brandt's slow thrusts with his two fingers, which had replaced his thumb, stretching her tight hole wider and wider. "Turn over, Taylor," he instructed. "We'll both be able to get at what we want more easily." When she did, he grabbed her by the legs and pulled her ass to the edge of the bed. 

"Keep rubbing that clit, Taylor," he told her as he drizzled more lube across his cock, and spread it with his hand. "Keep rubbing that little clit. Together we're going to make you come so hard you'll see stars." Taylor felt him enter her again, thrusting once, twice, three times into her cunt as she rubbed her clit. Then he withdrew, leaving her wanting and empty. 

"Please, be inside me," she begged.

"Oh, I will," he promised, but the look on his face held an edge of menace. Taylor felt his cockhead slide down from her cunt, and press against her ass. He grabbed her legs and pushed them up, almost folding her in half. Her eyes flew open and she looked him in the face, convinced for just a second that he was just teasing her, then equally convinced that he planned to fill her virgin ass with his cock. She didn't want it, had turned down countless pleas to be the first to explore that territory, but at the same time she remembered the delicious feelings of his fingers in her ass and wondered if his cock would feel as good or better. The clock was ticking down, slowing, but between Brandt's magic and her own desire, she was powerless to say no. 

"I'll go slow," she heard him say as he leaned into her, the well-lubed head of his cock breaching her tight sphincter muscle. He rocked slightly in that position, not pushing deeper, just getting her used to the feel, letting her ass relax slightly before he pushed in deeper. Something in her told her she wasn't that kind of girl, but the objection was overridden by the sensations coursing through her body, the need she felt to rub her clit. Brandt pushed forward again, and she could feel his legs press against her ass, his cock as deep into her as it could possibly go. Their eyes met again and she knew, and knew he knew, she could refuse him nothing. 

"Fuck my ass, Brandt," she breathed out. He didn't tell her that he didn't want her to talk, just grasped her legs firmly and fucked her tight hole. Sliding the full length of his shaft in and out of her as she rubbed her clit and babbled, only occasionally saying anything coherent. "Come in me," that he heard loud and clear. "Fill my ass with your cum. You know I need it. Put your cum in my ass," those were certainly intelligible sentences. "I'm gonna come so hard when you fill my ass." She was making all the sense in the world now as he thrust his dick deep into her, the sensations of being clasped so tightly in the heat of her ass only magnified by her pleas to be fucked deep and hard. He couldn't hold back for much longer, and her wail that she was coming pushed him over the edge, filling her with what she had been begging for.

When they had both finished, Brandt flipped a blanket over her and went into the bathroom for a shower. When he finished, Taylor was passed out in an exhausted sleep. 

She slept on as Brandt dressed and let himself quietly out the door, giving a nod to the doorman, who answered with a knowing wink. He walked in the dark, cool night toward the subway station, flipping open his phone to leave a message for the headhunter who had been pursuing him for months. "Hey, Clay. It's Brandt. I've thought about it, and you're right. It is time to move on."



I Put a Spell on You



The house looks almost creepy. Well, maybe that's just because it's Halloween and it's dark -- everything looks creepier in the dark. Also, it's his house -- that makes it the best house in the world, right?

Then why do my hands tremble now that I reach out to press the door bell?

***

He opened the door with a smile on his face. She was as beautiful as he had expected, wearing a black dress that was much too light for this cold weather, her coat open, her red hair put up into a complicated hairdo as if she was going to a party or the opera rather than someone's home. He could tell she was nervous, blushing slightly, but her face relaxed as soon as she saw his smile.

"Come in."

He took her coat and led her into the dining room where he had set the table and decorated it with flowers and candles. She should be able to see he wasn't one of those guys who think dinner has to consist of a pizza in front of the TV and has to rely on others for anything else.

"Sit down, dinner is almost ready. Do you want a glass of wine?"

She nodded, unable to speak. This was perfect; everything was as she had dreamt it to be. This evening couldn't go wrong. She felt a rush of thankfulness towards the unknown writer of the spell book, towards the librarian who might have purchased it generations ago, to the current librarian who had kept it between the other books for her to find.

As he went to the kitchen to get the food he had made, she looked around. The house must indeed be old, the walls seemed somewhat cold and thick, but were tastefully decorated with paintings. The heavy carpet on the floor looked old fashioned, but gave the room warmth it might otherwise have lacked. She could hear faint music coming in through one of the doors that led to other rooms, something classical.

She turned back to the table and sipped from her wine glass. She didn't know much about wine, but she could tell this one wasn't cheap. It tasted good, and when he returned with a dish of steaming, exotic food -- Indian, she thought from the smell -- her glass was already half empty.

As they ate she could hardly keep her eyes off him. Her heart was beating at the thought of what was, hopefully, to follow the meal. Each look at his hands, neatly handling his knife and fork, made her wonder whether they would be just as skillfully touching her body in a little while. The thought of feeling these long fingers, his tender yet strong touch, sent shivers down her spine.

There was something sensuous to his mouth, even as he ate. The joy with which his lips seemed to receive the food made her remember that she once had read how someone's attitude toward food might be an indication of their sexual abilities. He surely seemed to be a gourmet, as well as an excellent cook.

They were oddly quiet during the meal. She had expected more conversation but couldn't think of anything to say, and he wasn't talking much either. For a moment she wondered if he perhaps felt sorry for having invited her but then she noticed that he kept looking at her, that he seemed happy to see her enjoying the food he had cooked, glad that she had accepted the invitation.

There was no need to talk, she decided. There was something intimate in their silence, as if they had known each other for the longest time. When was the last time someone looked at her like this, with an expression so full of desire?

When her glass of wine was empty he poured some more -- it went to her head quickly, she noticed. Yet she drank more, and when they had finished their meal her glass was almost empty once more.

Now was the right time, she supposed. She felt her heart beat increase again. This was it, she was going to say the final part of the spell and then he would be hers. She could then be sure of his desire for her. Nervously she thought of what he might think when she started reciting the spell, but with another sip of her wine, emptying the glass, she wiped this worry away. She took a deep breath before looking at him and started speaking, trying to remember the strange words whose meaning, if they even had any, she didn't know:

"Acum momentul a sosit. Sunt al tau, pentru totdeauna al tau. Nimeni n-o sa stie, nimeni n-o sa cauta. Sunt sclava dorintei tale."

"Asa sa fie."

His voice surprised her. The book hadn't said anything about him speaking too. Then again it might still be a result of the spell, a confirmation that the incantation had had the desired effect and just not been mentioned in the book because it wasn't something she herself had to do, or so she hoped. After all, he didn't seem surprised at her saying the enchantment; he had just looked at her, his eyes expressing desire, so she assumed he must now be completely under her spell.

Smiling, he stood up, stepped towards her, and gave her his hand, as if to help her up from her seat. She obliged and, standing right next to him, looked up into his eyes. Now that they were so close she could smell him, feel the warmth of his body; it was intoxicating. She could see his lips approaching hers.

***

She is beautiful bathed in the light of the candles; it was worth placing them on the table just for this view. Oh, these big eyes with which she is looking at me, and her mouth, expecting my kiss. I am not sure how long I can control myself anymore. I want her. I need her. Now. I have dreamt of this moment whenever I saw her in class, whenever I pretended not to notice her.

The touch of her lips on mine just makes my hunger grow. I can taste her mouth; I let my tongue explore it... so sweet... I want her to be mine.

***

For a few minutes their lips were locked in a kiss. They seemed to have forgotten everything around them. Time stood still in this room that seemed to be from a different time itself, their heartbeats seemed to be just one and the same, their kiss carried in it all the hopes and promises of the incantation whose words still seemed to float in the air.

***

This is it. It worked. He is everything I have dreamed of. His arms are so strong as they hold me. His lips so soft, his kiss tastes wonderful. I almost can't decide between keeping my eyes open to see his face bathed in the light of the candles that are still burning on the table, or closing them to only enjoy the feeling of his kiss. I never want this moment to stop...

Finally I can feel the touch of his hands as he presses my body closer to his. He is strong, just as I imagined. I bet, if he wanted to, he could hold me like this and I would have no chance to escape.

I need to look into his eyes. I want to talk to him, hear him tell me that he thinks I am beautiful. After that, I want him to kiss me again. But right now, I want to be able to look into his eyes.

***

Finally she wanted to break their kiss, maybe so she could say something to him, or maybe just to get another chance to look into his eyes.

He, however, didn't agree with that. Why did she want to stop now? He wanted to keep kissing her. His hand went up to her head, his fingers entangling in her hair, and he held her head in the right position, her face close to his, their kiss growing more passionate. For a few seconds she accepted this, thought it to be a sign of his passion for her.

Then the pressure of his fingers into her skull grew painful, the awkward position into which he forced her head made her neck hurt. She tried to pull away.

***

She is mine. She is so beautiful... I can't let her get away. She will stay mine. I don't want to stop. Stay here. You know I am stronger than you. See... You've got no chance.

***

Panic grew in her. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to want her, yes... but this was too much.

The room was still bathed in candle light, soft music was still floating to the room, but the two figures next to the heavy oak table seemed to be struggling rather than kissing.

***

What is he doing? Doesn't he know he is hurting me?

The spell... Something must have gone wrong with the spell... No, that can't be. I did everything right, didn't I? No, I used too much of some of the herbs. Why did I do that? They warned me not to...

No, please, this can't be happening. In a second he will realize that he's hurting me, that I want him to stop. He will apologize and the evening will go as great as I have hoped.

He isn't stopping. He must have noticed that I want him to stop. Ouch. He is biting my lip. Why is he biting my lip? This wasn't a playful bite, it really hurt.

No, please, stop! This can't be happening...

***

While he kept kissing her, forcing his tongue into her mouth, exploring every corner, biting her lips and twisting her hair painfully when she fought back too strongly, he pushed her backwards into a corner of the room where she was trapped between the wall and him, so that she was completely at his mercy. He didn't need his hands anymore to keep her in check so he could use them to roam over her body instead, squeezing her ass through the beautiful black dress while he was pressing his body against hers, so that she could feel how much all this excited him.

***

I don't recognize him anymore. This isn't the man I was watching every day in class, the one I was dreaming about all the time. His hands don't feel like those that touched me just minutes ago. They are coarse now, strong and brutal. And his kiss... can you still call this a kiss? He is nearly suffocating me. Let me go! Please... I just want to go home...

***

She gathered all her strength and tried to push him away and for a second it seemed like she was successful. He stumbled a few steps away, she could breathe again. Her whole face seemed to burn, her mouth was numb and at the same time the skin around it felt raw, and she suddenly realized that she only saw blurry shapes because her eyes were filled with tears.

She tried to kick at him, to push him further away, to hurt him enough, so that she would have a chance to get away. But the next moment he was right in front of her again, grabbing her arm, twisting it behind her back and forcing her to turn around. He pushed her into the wall; she turned her face sideways just in time to protect her nose, but the contact with the hard stone on her cheek, her chest, her whole body made her gasp. Again he pressed his body against hers; with slow movements he rubbed his groin against her ass while breathing heavily into her ear.

His tongue touched her ear, explored it; for just a moment its wet touch made her feel a shiver of excitement, a tingling inside her, then his lips caught her earlobe. He sucked it into his mouth and then bit down on it. Her shriek of pain seemed to excite him even more; he pressed his body harder against hers and let out a slight moan.

His free hand started exploring her body, squeezing her ass, her breasts, whichever part of her he could reach. Then he slipped his hand underneath her dress, moved it up and down the insides of her legs. Instinctively she pressed her legs together, but with a strength that scared her he managed to push his hand further up, until his fingers were rubbing against the fabric of her underwear.

***

I love it how she squirms and tries to get away -- and ends up making her body only more accessible to me. She smells wonderful. Her perfume, her sweat, her fear. I can't get enough of it. And I can feel the warmth of her sex under my hands. My touch doesn't leave her body unaffected. She is mine. Mine, to do with what I want.

***

When he tried to slip a finger underneath her panties she started struggling more strongly. In reaction to this his mouth searched out her neck; he caught some of her soft skin between his teeth and bit without a word of warning. At the same time, he twisted her arm more violently behind her back. She didn't scream this time, but while trying to push his head away with the help of her own she kept the rest of her body still now. Having had the desired effect, the grip of his teeth loosened, though not completely.

She allowed him to push her underwear down now, far enough to have free access to her sex. His fingers played with her labia, found her clit and rubbed it with small, circular movements, which caused her more pain than pleasure as his touch was lacking any tenderness. Then he pushed her labia to the side and probed her pussy with his finger. He managed to force quite a bit into her. Then he took his hand to his mouth -- his teeth letting go of her neck -- to moisten it by sucking on it.

"Mmm," he made an exaggerated sound of enjoyment at her taste, and then returned the finger to her pussy, pushing it in and out of her.

***

I have to get out of here. I have to get away from him. I have to get to the spell book and see if there is any counter spell.

He is crazy. The spell has gone wrong. I should never have done this, I didn't even know what I was doing, what effect the spell can cause. It's all gone wrong... And he is so strong, I can barely move when he doesn't want me to. I am scared... What will he do to me?

I wish I had told the others where I was going. But that wouldn't mean they would come looking for me, anyway -- I know him, they know him too, he is a university teacher! It would never have occurred to anyone it might not be safe here... They won't even notice I am gone until tomorrow...

What is he going to do? How am I going to get away from here? I am scared...

***

She let him do everything now, didn't try to fight back. She knew she didn't stand a chance against him if she was struggling. All she could do was close her eyes, and hope it would be over soon, hope he would stop soon, or that there would be some chance to escape.

He tried to push his hand up further along her body, tried to reach her breasts, but her dress was too tight. The sound of ripping fabric made her eyes open again. "This is my favorite dress!" shot through her mind, and the next moment she realized that this was the least of her problems.

But somehow the fact that he simply ripped apart the expensive piece of clothing made her panic, as if it had reminded her of what was inevitable now. It seemed to confirm his determination, and even though the shreds of her dress still clung to her, she felt naked and helpless.

He let go of her arm now, turned her around, and pinned her against the wall with his hand on her throat. Then he paused to look at her. With his free hand he tore away the remains of her dress so she was standing in front of him naked except for her underwear that was hanging somewhere at the height of her knees, and her bra.

***

I don't think I have ever seen anything that beautiful. The way her eyes stare at me in panic. I think she has cried a bit -- her makeup is smeared, her mascara is running down her face in dark lines. And her hair... a little pulling and twisting was enough to mess it up wonderfully.

When I press my hand tighter onto her throat, she starts gasping in panic. I love that sound. And how she is hitting at me with her arms, though she has no chance to push me away. Almost... cute...

Oh, don't worry, I won't hurt you... too much. I still need you, I want you to be mine. There, now you have enough air again.

We have to get rid of that bra, don't we? Let me see... These things are difficult to open when the owner is struggling. Keep still or I... That's a good girl. There we go.

Her breasts are perfect. I could stand here for hours just looking at them. And they are mine, because she is mine...

***

He reached out with his free hand and touched her breasts, carefully at first, exploring their round form, then softly taking one of her nipples between his fingers. It reacted immediately to his touch. He cupped that breast in his hand to feel the contrast of the soft flesh with the small, hard nipple poking into the middle of his hand.

He let go of her throat and cupped her other breast too. For a while he seemed completely lost in the feeling of her breasts in his hands, stroking them tenderly, almost lovingly. She stood still except for a sob that shook her body every now and then, her eyes half open she looked to the side where she could still see the blurry lights of the candles he had lit for their dinner.

His touch got stronger, coarser; he kneaded her breasts painfully, his breath getting heavier at the same time. Then, suddenly, he let go of them, instead putting his arms around her, pulling her body against his so he could feel the warmth of it.

Her ear again close to his mouth, he whispered, "You are beautiful."

His voice was a hiss, an ice cold and brutal sound that mocked the tenderness of the words and scared her more than his touch had. She started struggling again, wanting to squirm out of his embrace. He let go of her, but before she could move away in any direction he pushed her down to the ground. Despite the thick carpet covering the ground she hit the floor hard and groaned in pain while he stood over her, one leg on each side of her body, his hands now busy opening the belt that held up his trousers.

Despite her fear she noticed that she couldn't take her eyes off him. She wanted to close them, wanted to stop having to see him, but she couldn't. She kept watching him in a strange fascination until he had freed his manhood which stood proudly above her, as big as it had seemed to her when he had pressed his body against hers.

He left his shirt on and hadn't even taken off his trousers completely, they were hanging at his knees as he kneeled down above her, pinning her arms to the ground with the help of his legs. In panic, seeing his cock right in front of her face like an unspoken threat, she tried to struggle out of his grip, kicking her legs into the air, but it was useless. He was heavy sitting on her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe.

He pressed his cock against her face and in disgust she turned her head, but a violent blow of his hand against her cheek almost robbed her of consciousness. After that she didn't dare to turn away again and obediently opened her mouth, taking in the tip of his manhood, tasting something salty, probably a little bit of pre-cum.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to open her mouth wider so he could shove his cock deep inside, until she started gagging. Instinctively she now tried to turn her head again, tried to get rid of him, tried to catch breath.

"Try to relax."

His voice was soft and soothing now, it reminded her of the way he used to explain things in class. She held on to the sound of his voice, as if it was the one thing that could save her from this situation. The one thing that was familiar.

***

I can't breathe. He is going to kill me. This is going to kill me. Please... please don't hurt me. This can't be happening...

Relax. He said relax. I have to relax. That is my only chance. I have to survive this. I have to get out of here again. I can't breathe. Relax... It gets a bit better when I relax. I can breathe, when I relax.

I wish it was over. I wish I was home. I wish I had never found that book. I have to get back home, I have to get the book, there has to be a counter curse. There has to be a way to undo all this. After that, I will bring the book back to the library... No, better, I will bury it somewhere. No one should ever find it again. No one should be tempted to use it. This can never happen again.

Please, just let it be over soon...

***

Again, his fingers were in her hair, yanking her head painfully into the position he needed it in so he could thrust into her mouth in a faster and faster rhythm. Only every now and then he took a break, allowing her to catch some breath. She gave her best not to fight back, to relax, to let him do what he was doing, hoping that her compliance would help him to be done soon, wishing that this would be all he was planning to do.




I Put a Spell on You



One hand was behind her head, pushing it up against his cock. He half turned so his other hand could reach her sex. He rubbed her clit, then took his finger to his mouth to moisten it, then continued rubbing. After a while he pushed her labia apart instead, entered her with a finger. He wasn't careful with all this, but though it hurt she felt her body reacting, betraying her; she knew she was getting wet.

Then he stopped touching her, stopped fucking her mouth, got up so her chest suddenly felt free and light, and for a moment she concentrated only on filling her lungs completely with air again while he now kneeled down at her legs.

She knew what was to follow, had known it all along, though she had hoped against all hope that her mouth might be enough for him. Instinctively she pressed her legs together, her knees pulled up a bit, but when he grabbed those knees with his strong, large hands, and pushed them apart, she had to give in. It felt as if he would break her legs otherwise.

She started crying again now and he leaned over her, laying down on top of her with his lower body between her legs and his cock against her stomach as if to make her appreciate its hard form once more. His upper body propped up on his arms to kiss her cheeks and her eyes. He seemed to want to taste her tears, enjoy the saltiness of her fear and desperation.

"Sh," he whispered. "It's all good. It's all going to be perfect, just like you wished for."

His words barely reached her brain. Her ability to think, to make sense of anything, was numbed by fear. She knew what was to follow, and it was what she had wished for, once, in a completely different world where everything had been different.

Her eyes were closed but it was as if she could see him. As if she was standing in a corner of the room watching herself, and him. How he propped himself up higher now, on one arm, using the other hand to guide his cock to the entrance of her sex, pressing the head against her pussy.

She was somewhat wet in reaction to his touch, but not wet enough. It seemed to be difficult to get it in. His cock was bigger than any of her boyfriends' had been, and all logic told her that it must be painful for her own unwilling pussy to accommodate it. And yes, somewhere inside her she could feel that pain, but it was disconnected from her conscience. It didn't register in her brain, as if all this was happening to a different person that just happened to share the same body.

He had worked his way deep inside her, paused a moment, then pulled back almost all the way out to repeat the same, slow motion. Just when her body started adjusting his hands grabbed her legs by the ankles, pulling them up, putting each of her feet against one of his shoulders and opening her body completely to him, allowing him to enter her more deeply. In this position he gave up his slow motions and instead started pounding into her with all his strength, as if he wanted to rip her apart.

The pain of the first violent thrust tore her out of the disconnection with herself that she had created, forcing her conscience back into her body, making it impossible to go on pretending she was just a bystander. It also made it impossible to keep her eyes closed, they opened on their own accord suddenly, and let the reality around her flow back into her brain:

She was still lying on the floor of a strangely old fashioned looking room bathed in candle light, naked, underneath this man she had thought to be the man of her dreams but who had turned out to be her night mare. He was still half dressed, and for a moment the question occurred to her whether she wasn't even worth the trouble of undressing for him.

As his thrusts turned yet more violent she moved her hands up against his stomach, tried to bring some barrier between her violated sex and him so he couldn't push into her quite as deeply, to protect herself from the worst pain.

For a few moments he seemed to allow her to do this but then he took her wrists, pulled them back up above her head, and pinned them to the floor with the help of just one hand while his other hand suddenly and painfully connected with her face in an apparent punishment for this little trick. Her mouth opened slightly but she didn't cry out, just as she hadn't cried out throughout all that time.

He stared at her with his green eyes, almost without blinking, while his face seemed distorted with arousal and excitement. He never closed his eyes, looking down at her in fascination. Only now he closed them suddenly, and leaned forward, his face approaching hers, her legs still up against his body as he was forcing her to bend them unnaturally.

His hand was still at her face where he had hit her earlier. Now he took her chin between his thumb and his fingers, pressed it, forcing her to open her mouth so she had to receive his tongue.

He let go of her hands now and also allowed her legs to slip away from his shoulders. His thrusting had become shallower but faster even, his breath very heavy. He seemed completely taken by what he was doing, seemed to even have forgotten the body underneath him, other than as a means to his end.

She could tell he was close now, started hoping again that it would be over soon, that she could get away somehow, go home and forget about all this.

His body shook violently as he came into her, he groaned like an animal as she felt spurts of his cum shoot into her. Then he sank down onto her, lying heavily on top for a few minutes. She felt his cock growing soft inside her while a mixture of her own juices, created by her body as its only means of defense against his assault, and his cum began flowing back out of her pussy. It was over.

Finally, he got up without a word and left the room.

Lying on the floor, she stared up at the ceiling. She felt sick. Her sex seemed swollen and was burning, her body weak. She was sure she wouldn't be able to move if she tried. The candles were still burning, their trembling light throwing strange shadows and reflections on the ceiling.

Slowly the cold from the thick old walls of the house was creeping through the air and through the carpet underneath her, causing her to shiver. She heard a door somewhere in the house. She started remembering where she was, why she was here. She had to get out of here! She had to be gone, before he came back, this was her chance.

Hastily she stood up, grabbing the chair she had been sitting on earlier when her legs wanted to give way underneath her; they weren't ready for walking yet. She allowed herself a moment to catch her breath, to gather strength, to assess the situation. Three steps to the door, then another six or seven steps through a hallway to the entrance of the house. Outside it was dark -- she could hide between trees and bushes; flee into the forest. He wouldn't find her there, and soon she would be too far away for him to catch her. She had to go. Now.

***

Three steps to the door. It is cold here; the hallway is dark and cold, I am almost scared to leave the warm candlelight of the dining room. Six or seven steps to the entrance of the house. I think it's raining. I am shivering already, and I haven't even opened the door yet. Will I die of cold outside? No, no, I have to hurry. He can be back any minute. There is my coat, it is hanging right next to the door. Can I afford the seconds it will cost me to put it on?

Yes, that is warmer. Now, the door. Please let it be unlocked. Please.

It is opening. Yes! I can't believe he didn't lock it! I am free! The air smells so fresh, so wonderful! Just one more step, and I am out of this...

***

For a moment she saw bright lights. Then she suddenly found herself back in her corner of the dining room naked. The coat was gone. Her whole body ached. She was lying on the floor as if someone had thrown her there.

The next moment he walked back into the room wearing a bathrobe now, and carrying a book under his arm, grinning.

"I see you are still here. So you like my humble little place?"

He cowered down next to her and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head up, forcing her face close to his.

"I wouldn't try running away again." His voice was a nasty hiss. "There is no way you can leave this house. You are tied to it, forever, I have seen to that."

He let go of her and got up to place the book he had been carrying under his arm on the table. With a gasp of horror she recognized that it was not just any book -- it was her book, the spell book from the library.

"A neat little book, don't you think?" he spoke, his back still turned to her. "It always returns to its owner when it has served its purpose. It knows its family. My grandfather wrote it, you know."

He turned around, moved one of the chairs so it faced her and sat down on it leisurely, his bathrobe half open, but still covering most of his body. There was a happy expression on his face as his eyes fixed on her naked form that was huddled in the corner of the room and he continued speaking.

"I always tell my students they shouldn't believe everything they read in a book -- but do they ever listen? No... They take the printed word for a supreme truth. If it says 'love spell', then it must be a love spell. If it says "desire", then it must cause desire. You all think you are so smart and it never occurs to you that books can lie just as well as people can."

She stared up at him, unbelieving, unable to process what he was saying. His smile was now that of a patient teacher speaking to a well liked, if not very smart, student.

"The other thing I always tell my students is to read more than the assigned chapter. Obviously they never listen to that either. Else you might have realized that the spells you were performing were actually part of the preceding chapter. How to make her your own. Quite literally, I might say." He gave her a friendly smile. His voice was as soft now as when he was teaching literature. "You are mine now."

She felt tears welling up inside her again as she tried to hide away further into the corner of the room, but no matter how small she tried to make herself she could feel his eyes on her, a constant gaze that made her feel exposed and helpless.

"This chapter was indeed a stroke of genius my great-grandfather had," he continued. "He wrote that book, you know? I owe him a lot..."

He took his hand away from the book and opened his bathrobe further instead so that he revealed his body to her, and his manhood, which currently was almost completely flaccid, after having shot its load a few minutes earlier. He took it in his hand and started stroking it with his gaze still fixed on her naked body, and soon enough it started growing again.

"It's not that difficult. A little spell and the girl of my choosing will desire me. Then I just need to make sure she finds the book. They always fall for it. These spells that make someone's every trace disappear from the face of the earth, that make someone vanish from all their friends' memory so no one will ever go looking for them, they are very complicated magic. And they only work if they are performed by the person in question themselves... Lucky me, my grandfather knew enough languages to not have to write those spells in English."

He grinned smugly. His cock was hard again now, and he continued stroking it with slow, savoring movements.

"I wouldn't try any tricks," he added. "I have powers you can't even imagine. You are mine now..."

He stood up and freed himself completely from his bathrobe, then took hold of one of her feet and pulled her back onto the carpet. She came to lie on her stomach now, face down, and for a moment he paused to appreciate the view of her ass.

***

She really is beautiful; she was definitely the right choice. I knew I would like her from the moment she first entered my class... I knew I had to have her, and I always get what I want.

What a sweet ass, I can't wait to be inside it... Ah, she is scared of that. Don't struggle -- that will only make it hurt more... This time she will scream for sure...

***

She guessed what he was planning to do when he spread her ass cheeks apart with his hands and pushed his finger against the rosette. In panic she tried to crawl away from him. A few heavy blows of his flat hand against her behind that caused her skin to redden made her give up her attempt to flee. She knew there was nowhere to go.

He pulled her up by hear hips so she came to be on all fours in front of him and continued his exploration of her ass with his index finger. She drew in air with a hissing sound, when he managed to push in his finger, but didn't dare trying to move away again. After a while she managed to relax a bit, make it hurt less, and soon he added a second finger.

Eventually, he replaced the fingers with his cock. Holding on to her hips, burying his fingers deep in her flesh so that pain almost distracted her from the other one, he entered her slowly, millimeter by millimeter, only encouraged by the fearful whimpering sounds she uttered.

When his cock was buried in her ass completely he paused, for just a moment, so that before he started pounding into her with a force that would make her scream in pain he could finish his earlier explanation of her situation.

With a voice that sounded almost tender, he said, "You and I, we will have a great time together..."