Spellbound 17

This is a standalone supernatural Halloween-themed F/m story that features humiliation, spanking, sex, and edging. Fair warning: If you just skip right to the sexy stuff you will probably be extremely confused. All characters 18+

Spellbound

Tristan would barely remember this lumbering walk through the darkened woods, crunching autumn leaves and pine needles underfoot. He followed a captivating woman. Her dark curly hair, like her long dress, flowed like a waterfall down her slender body. She turned back to check on him when he stumbled, and then turned again to lead the way. Their arms formed a tether, their hands a knot in the centre.

Deep into the forest stood a small cottage in the process of being reclaimed by nature. The tall gabled roof was decorated by moss and damp orange leaves. Vines climbed the walls. The earth had reached up to swallow the first of the three steps to the front door. The only sign of intelligent life was the candlelight seen flickering through the casement windows.

With one firm tug of his arm, the bewitched young man stepped over the threshold. She pushed his shoulders down to seat him on a wooden chair, and he stayed perfectly docile, looking up at her numbly from under his eyelashes. "Put your hands behind the back of the chair. Wrist over wrist."

He obeyed the damning request without hesitation. A gust of wind made the ancient cottage creak and groan. The candles flickered from the invading chilly draft. The bewitching woman rose one hand up, palm towards him, and he didn't even flinch. Her fingers curled a moment, and then she gestured something like small circles in the air, as though winding invisible string around her forefinger.

Ropes seemed to grow right out of the chair to bind him to it. His crossed wrists were tied behind the chair's back; his ankles were bound to the chair legs. Conjured rope around his chest hugged his back to the wooden rungs. His thighs were bound snugly to the seat.

A weight lifted from deep inside his mind, and Tristan very suddenly became acutely aware of his capture. He sucked in a great gasp intended to be let out in a scream for help, but his mouth was magically gagged to prevent it. Something that felt like duct tape covered his lips and jaw. "Mmmmph!" he said instead.

He struggled, trying with all his might to stand - a feeble attempt to break the ropes around his chest and thighs. It was all animal instinct as the trance lifted. He squirmed and fought for survival, and when standing was hopeless, he attempted to slither out from under the tight coils and knots.

"Stop it, Tristan," she said, fingers sliding down his cheek. "You're not going anywhere until I'm done with you."

Once she'd said his name, he could remember hers. Morgan. They'd met at a costume party last weekend and really hit it off. He hadn't tried very hard with a simple skeleton jumpsuit, and she hadn't tried very hard either. She'd gone as herself. A witch. Though, he didn't realize her true lack of effort until now, seeing her using magic right in front of him. His heart pounded.

"You're so scared," she noted before her ruby lips curled into a smile. "Already so sensitive. You're perfect."

The last thing Tristan remembered was trying to meet her for a date. She was so beautiful she nearly sparkled. She had big, crystal-clear blue eyes that he found utterly mesmerizing. She was also smart and strange and a little wild, and he couldn't remember the particulars of their chat, but knew he'd felt a strong connection.

Earlier that evening, even with the help of his phone, he couldn't quite figure out the location she'd written down for him. Tristian ended up lost in a field by the largest and creepiest weeping willow tree he'd ever seen.

Morgan appeared in front of him a moment later. Like magic. He'd looked up from the map on his phone and there she stood, only a foot away. So the remote location was correct, after all. She whispered to him in such a way that he could almost taste the sweetness of her words.

And now he was here in this ancient cottage, tied firmly to the chair. Tristan was thin and fairly strong, jogging nearly every morning. But he couldn't escape these ropes no matter what he did.

"Shh. Calm down. Stop all that right now."

She stared into his eyes pointedly, and he felt even weaker and more vulnerable than before. It wasn't another trance, but a spell that trickled through his eyes and into the back of his mind. All his senses felt heightened, but his sheer terror began to melt away. It was like she had simply turned down the volume on his fear.

Morgan sat on his lap, straddling him, and he could feel the heat of her pressing into his lap. She slowly kissed his sensitive neck and made him sigh and moan into the tape over his mouth. It felt so impossibly good, tingling his skin, making him instantly start to swell with arousal. His desire for her completely replaced the fear, like his body couldn't be horny and terrified at the same time.

"You're a virgin, aren't you, Tristan?"

He shook his head

no

but averted his eyes to look into the inky shadows lurking in corners instead.

"Don't bother trying to lie to me. You are. I can tell what you're thinking and feeling... what you want."

"Mmm," he moaned as she ground herself into him, rocking against his erection. Her lips were back on his neck and his eyes were now closed, his head tilted back to allow her full access to all his super sensitive skin. "Mm-mmph-mmph?"

She rubbed a finger over the gag on his mouth. His words were nothing but garbled muffles, but she completely understood his request. The tape disintegrated away, snapping out of reality the same way it had come in.

"What do you want from me?" he asked once he could speak. He didn't shout, but there was a slight edge to his tone.

"Ingredients," she said vaguely, and sucked on his earlobe. His head went back again and he helplessly groaned in pleasure until she stopped.

"Wh-what are you? A witch?"

"Yes. An enchantress."

"What does that even mean?"

"I fuck..." she said, parting his lips to kiss him deeply. "With your mind."

Friends had warned him about women like this. It was advised not to put his dick inside them, mainly. And yet...

He kissed her again, his tongue searching hers, and she moaned now too. What ingredients did she want? His semen? His virginity? He'd happily provide both. She honestly should have just tried asking first.

"Please untie me."

"Are you even tied?" she asked. "Or is it all in your head?"

He looked down at the coils of rope that imprisoned him. They were all clearly there, plain as day, and he could feel the cords pressing into his skin. It was impossible to move or free himself, even after hearing it was supposedly all a mind trick. She was too powerful, warping his reality like that. "Please..."

The ropes loosened and slithered back into the wooden chair. He stood right up with the impish enchantress in his arms, and carried her off to the nearest bed. There was one in the back of the cottage, dressed in silky sheets, candles flickering on either side. After laying her down on her back, he slid a curious hand under her long dress, fingertips sliding up her thigh. She sighed and enjoyed the feel of his hand as he caressed her over the front of her panties on the way to her breasts, but then she sat up and shook her head.

"No," she said. "First, you give me what I want."

Tristan pulled his hand back and tried to recover with an appropriately contrite apology. Instead of forgiveness, she gave him another long and beguiling look. He melted again under gaze. Something deep in him had changed again, but he couldn't quite tell what it was yet.

"You're normally a good boy, Tristan. You're always very kind to animals. That's a big point in your favour. But, you've also done a lot of naughty things, haven't you?"

His mind began to flood with snippets of memories, flashes of all the little wrongs he'd committed over the years. Tossing trash out his car window a couple of times, rolling his eyes skeptically at a woman who simply asked about his astrological sign, lying to his parents about this and that. They were all such small things, but they compounded now as he viewed them all back to back. Swiftly he was overwhelmed with guilt.

"What happens to bad boys, Tristan?"

He looked at her, his guilt morphing instantly into embarrassment at the question alone. The way she spoke down to him made it worse. When she repeated herself, he finally whispered his shy response. "They get punished."

"How do bad boys get punished?"

He began to blush, even though he'd not done that for years. Heat prickled in his cheeks, the slightly embarrassing question now utterly humiliating. It was a trick of hers, he realized. She'd somehow heightened all his emotions. But just as with the ropes, knowing the truth didn't help at all. He continued to blush, flustered and shy. "Th-they get... a spanking."

"That's right," she said. "Stand up."

"Please, no..." he begged. The shame and dread were so intense that he wanted to run again, and thought about his plan of action. Rush to the door and open-

She grabbed his wrist, surprising him with her sheer strength. "You're not going anywhere. And now you've been an even naughtier boy, thinking of running away. So now you're going to get a severely shameful and very sound spanking."

Morgan began to unbutton his pants, and he blushed again, but knew better than to struggle. He looked up at the sound of whispering and laughing, not from Morgan but from a room full of people. At least a dozen women stood looking derisively at him. It wasn't real! It wasn't - but it felt so real. They were solid and fully formed and even breathed and blinked. One lady brushed against his arm as she moved in for a better look, and he felt her presence plain as day.

They weren't just any random women, either. Every unrequited crush he'd had in the past few years became his audience, heartlessly enjoying his humiliation. He met eyes briefly with the hottest professor he'd ever had as Morgan yanked his pants to his ankles. Then he heard the sound of laughter from the sexy redhead receptionist at work. Going by the content of their whispers, they seemed so amused that he was going to be spanked at his age.

Tristan's face burned so hot. Never had he felt anything so strong as this shame that tore through him now. He was frozen, mortified, the truest definition of the word. A whimper escaped his throat as he felt Morgan reaching for his boxers. Moments ago he wouldn't have minded at all, but that was different. Now he was going to get a spanking and all these incredibly gorgeous women were watching.

Morgan ordered him to put his hands up on top of his head before she bared him. She even adjusted his position, making sure he stood fully facing the small crowd. Then, horribly, cackling laughter erupted as his shorts were lowered with one swift tug. The cruel laughter burned in his ears. He looked down and saw that his manhood had shrunk. It was now a nub of a penis, barely poking out as it stood erect and exposed before the crowd.

She made him wait there on display, showing his new diminutive self to this room full of beautiful, laughing women. "Is that what he looks like?" asked the attractive barista at his favourite cafe. "Oh my God."

"No wonder he's still a virgin," said another.

That one particularly stung. He'd been insecure about that since high school.

Tristan knew she'd cast some illusion on his body, but it seemed so real, not just looking at it, but the way it felt on his body. Like it has always been that small and would stay that way forever. His hand went to hide his shame, and he only needed one for that task. Morgan took his arms and held them tightly behind his back, letting the ladies finish getting their fill of his humiliation. Some took pictures, others made one another laugh with their quips.

The sensation of shame grew so intense that he felt his tears welling. Just as one fell, Morgan dropped his hands and pressed an empty vial against his cheek, letting his tear splash into the container. Now that he'd started crying, it was hard to stop. The amused comments he heard about his snivelling reaction only made it worse. The magically enhanced humiliation burned through him harder than ever in his life.

The vial was a quarter full by the time his short crying spell subsided. "Tears of pure shame," she noted, twirling the vial in her fingers before capping it and putting it aside. "Very rare." So that was what she was after. Tristan sniffed and wiped at his face, but she was not done with him yet.

"Now, what did I promise would happen to your bare bottom?" she asked him.

He shook his head a little, eyeing the dozen women watching, arms crossed, smiling and still tittering.

"Tristan, do you want to make this worse?"

"You'll... um," he struggled to say it, shifting his weight from side to side. "You're going to g-give me a s-spanking."

Another wave of laughter made his face burn hot. What if it was real? What if this witch teleported them all here to watch his shame? He'd never live this down in his entire life.

"That's right," said Morgan. "You're going to be spanked very soundly tonight. And there's nothing you can do about it."

The enchantress sat on edge of the bed and pulled him facedown over her lap. It was such a humbling position to take, laying there with his bottom up and exposed to the cool air before his punishment. His hands and feet were trying to help balance him against the old wooden floorboards, as he'd been positioned classically over her knees.

She rubbed his bare cheeks and asked him to quietly remember what he'd done to deserve his punishment. He resisted a bit, trying to think of being anywhere but here. But she had the ability to alter his mind, invade his thoughts, and intensify all his feelings. The memories flashed back to him, a barrage of small misdeeds. The guilt, aching out of his heart, soon followed.

"I hope this punishment will teach you to be a good boy from now on," she said. He squirmed and moaned in misery, but part of him now longed for the pain to erase the horrible feeling inside.

She started slow, her hand cracking down, alternating between cheeks. At first Tristan only suffered from the guilt and his deep shame. The stinging pain was manageable. But the heat began to build and his discomfort soon caused some embarrassing squirming.

He could hear the voices of the amused women in the room, watching every sound spank against his exposed backside. These women must have been taken right from his memories. If so, then Morgan must have known absolutely everything about him, and that sensation left him feeling so vulnerable in its own right.

Picking up the pace again, Morgan peppered his bottom with hard spanks, and the surface stinging turned to a deep, penetrating heat. He began to really feel the punishing strikes, grunting or gasping after each and every smack. To make it worse, his guiltiest memories were firmly stuck at the forefront of his mind, no matter how much he tried to push them back. "Ah, ow," he complained, trying to wriggle away. "Please! No more!"

"Stay right there, naughty boy. You'll be let up once I am convinced you've thoroughly learned a lesson."

There was a chorus of agreements from the surrounding mirage of women. They too thought Tristan deserved his spanking, even as severe as it had become now. He tried to stay still and be brave, but Morgan had penetrated deep into his emotions as she spanked him. His bottom smarted terribly, and each spank was made worse by the sharp, lingering pain of the dozen before it.

She stopped to rub him long enough to ask if he was starting to learn his lesson. "Y-yes, ma'am," he said.

"Give me your wrist," she told him, and he found himself obeying. He offered it to her behind his back, and she held it down. It should have been an omen, but Tristan hadn't been punished by a woman in this way before. So he innocently closed his eyes and waited.

The next round of spanking was the worst by far, each burning slap directed at his sensitive lower bottom and upper thighs. He kicked his ankles up, going rigid, the soles of his shoes facing the ceiling. He began to cry out sharp and squeaky complaints. And when Morgan increased the strength of her spanks even further, he just began to keen out long wailing cries. He kicked and tried to squirm away to protect his reddening bottom. The lifelike figments of his imagination that surrounded him began to laugh at his childish reactions.

The guilty memories flashed through his mind again and again through this portion of his punishment. He didn't know if it was Morgan or himself. Some were almost forgotten but some of them had bothered him for a long time. The time he forgot his mother's birthday or the time he copied a few exam answers off the girl beside him. His next cry of pain sounded wet and teary enough for a watching woman to comment. "Aww, she's going to spank him to tears. At his age!"

Tristan was twenty-four and being spanked like a naughty boy and was indeed just about to cry over it. Though he was trying so very hard to keep it in. The intense remorse grew inside his heart until it nearly burst. Morgan coaxed him forward. "Let it out, Tristan."

The harsh spanks wouldn't stop. His bottom was on fire, and he felt a deep aching in his chest that turned to a reluctant grimace that quickly turned to a flood of tears. He went completely limp over her lap at once, crying his heart out as she spanked him soundly. "I'm sorry!" he told Morgan, and everyone watching.

She'd pressed an empty vial just under eye again. His arms were free now, but he just stayed there, mournfully accepting each and every one of the final stinging spanks. He sobbed openly over her lap as the vial filled with his tears.

The last few spanks felt softer than the ones before it. She must have taken pity on him. It was all over at long last, and Morgan had allowed him to stand up. The audience of his past crushes had vanished, no longer needed by the enchantress for her ends.

"Cleansing tears of remorse," she stated, capping the vial with a twist of the stopper.

Now she cared for him, having him sit beside her as she rubbed his back and worked to assuage his pain. She'd just called his tears cleansing and he had to admit she was right about that. He did feel so much better now - not his burning bottom, but his heart - and he doubted he'd ever ruminate about some of these past misdeeds again.

After several minutes of Morgan's gentle ministrations, she shared the bad news with him that his torment wasn't over yet.

"One more ingredient," she told him. "Then I will set you free."

Tristan nodded, feeling weak and sheepish since his spanking. This time he didn't even bother thinking of a way to escape. "It's not more tears, is it?" he worried.

"I'm afraid so," she said. "But I'll keep making it very easy for you to cry."

His heart sped, as this was no comfort at all. What was left? Grief? She wouldn't do something like that, would she? Pain? That worried him too. The hand-spanking was quite painful enough.

Morgan pulled off his sweater and shirt, baring his chest. She had him step out of his shoes and pants, and he realized now that he looked normal again down below - no longer sporting an inch-long penis. It was soft for now, but it was also his own and true to size. It gave him further hope that she'd really let him go when she was through with him.

"Lay on the bed, on your back. Stay exactly as I put you."

She arranged his limbs once he'd laid down, placing his wrists and ankles at each of the four corners of the mattress. Once Tristan understood, he nearly sat right up. But Morgan was quicker, and far more powerful. She swirled her finger in the air, and he was bound and helpless once again. His wrists were tied firmly to the bed above him, his legs spread and tied below.