Fulfillment

A Note from the Author: All humans are well older than eighteen years of age. This is the fourth of a five-part series, the remainder of which has been completed and is being edited. A word of warning that this is a true short story, so the chapters are also quite short!

Chapter 1 saw a rogue wizard defiling an ancient temple to gain power.

Chapter 2 detailed that wizard's developing cognitive obsession with an attractive woman who cheated on her spouse.

Chapter 3 told of the wizard's attempt to alleviate his growing obsession by re-enacting the tryst from Chapter 2 with a substitute.

This chapter begins the endgame. Our wizard uses his powers to punish his nemesis and claim the object of his obsession. There's a little shout out to my favorite band, Pink Floyd.

Please leave a comment if you are enjoying this story!

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Chapter 4: The Downfall of Dogs

Such is the power of my song.

But what is a song? There are many aspects, but one might think of it as a package, sometimes for a specific recipient. Viewed in this way, the caster must first create the container by establishing the rules and rhythm. Then the container is filled with the chant that contains the theme of the song. Finally, the container is sealed with a callback to the creation rhythm. A perfect circle. Then it is delivered.

I sat inside the desecrated ring of Centrum Carminis and began the ruination of Victor. Roughly translated, the song began with a question, "Who was fitted with collar and chain?"

The chant lasted hours, building in intensity, verse by verse, stone by stone. Sweat poured from me as I sang. The circular wind ripped through the structure, the sky invisible, the floor a flat black. There was no light at all that night. Beasts were afoot.

I finished the song circle. "Who was dragged down by the stone?"

The wind stopped and I waited. Slowly, the light returned. I saw that the granite cup was filled with foul water. It vibrated with its contents. Carefully, I poured the condensed song into a large vial, capped it, donned my robe, and made my exit.

Soon it would be delivered. With Victor displaced, I would have Winter to myself. Mari would be mine forever.

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Thoughts of Mari were intrusive, and the only relief was being near her. I felt alive in her presence, the gray of my solitary world dispelled and replaced by vibrant color. To chase that feeling, I had invisibly followed her for days, learned her routines, and fallen deeper into my own misery. She always had a kind word for a stranger, but never for me. Mari smiled as she spoke to everyone, but never for me. Why hadn't I arranged to introduce myself? Why had I relentlessly pursued her, but never touched her? For all of my powers and all of my songs, I was terrified to face her. The idea of rejection was excruciating. I needed her to love me as I did her.

Once I had silently watched as she carefully captured a beetle in the kitchen of her quaint little home, and then released the insect outside. Her heart seemed filled with kindness for every living thing, except for me. As I watched her walk away, my chest physically pained from the endless torment. In that moment I felt less than an insect. In that moment I made the decision to wait no longer, to deploy the bottled spell and take Mari for my own, by any means at my disposal. I casually crushed the rescued beetle under my invisible bare foot, watching as the insect smeared against a rock. For the first time in weeks, I couldn't help but smile.

I found her with Victor a few days later on the ridge, having followed Winter. She had sweetly kissed the balding man on the cheek before making an excuse to disappear and fuck her lover like a feral animal.

"Feed me," she implored. "Feed me, Victor."

She sat on her knees facing him while Victor smoothly stoked his penis, inches from her face. I stood invisible, the span of a hand behind him. Had he even backed up quickly, I would have been discovered. But I wanted to be close to her and smell her insatiable lust.

Victor was nearing climax. By now, even I knew the telltale signs. Mari watched him, one hand working her right nipple, and the other hand buried in her pants, working to her own satisfaction. She waited for the right moment, and then opened her mouth and stuck out her pink tongue. Seconds later, he erupted, sending pump after pump of ejaculate into her waiting mouth. She took it all, never breaking eye contact with him. Then she swallowed the entire mouthful.

"Mmmm"

"Mari," he said. "Fuck. You are so bad. Fuck." He stroked her golden hair.

She smiled that radiant smile and I hated him thrice over. Victor, spent, dropped to his knees and they kissed, his hands all over her bare torso, her perfect breasts. I was so close that they would have heard me breathing if not for their preoccupation. Her hands found his buttocks, her right forefinger exploring his crack. He shivered as she did so.

He broke the kiss and stared directly into her eyes. "Never leave me."

Mari responded with a passionate kiss, but no reassurance. I wondered whether her lack of reply was directly related to the balding man. Her relationship with him was borderline asexual. I knew this to be true, because I had watched them together as well, whiling away meaningless hours. She always initiated, and he always fell asleep as soon as he was satisfied. I had never once seen him attempt to please her.

She sometimes stared at the ceiling while he slept, but she never cried. The nature of their relationship was a mystery to me, and why she did not leave him. I hated the balding man nearly as much as I hated Victor. Only a fool would neglect Winter, and only the truly unaware would be blind to her real passion and extramarital activities.

As Victor started to speak again, she placed her hand over his mouth. With neither smile nor humor, she said, "It's my turn now."

A brief look of surprise crossed Victor's face as Mari pushed him to the blanket, flat on his back. He lay there as she flipped onto her back and removed her pants and underwear. Once again, she wore plain white cotton panties, now visibly wet with the result of her fingering. Mari threw one leg over his, and took position astride him.

Once again, Victor took a deep breath as if to speak, but Mari clamped her hand over his mouth, more forcefully than before.

"Quiet. This isn't about you."

Mari began slowly rolling her hips, sliding herself over his rapidly hardening penis. Watching the smooth motion of her hips was almost hypnotic. Victor could not look away either. She closed her eyes and slid forwards, backwards, never letting him penetrate. She was slick against him. Occasionally her hips made tiny circles when the tip of his penis contacted her clitoris. I heard her breathing become more labored. I saw the sweat develop on the small of her back as she rode.

She sighed and seemed to speak to herself. "That's it. That's it right there. Don't move. Don't talk."

He complied and remained still, scarcely blinking. His hands rested on her hips, but provided no guidance or force. Though the effect was to tease him, I could perceive no sense of foreplay. In that moment, Victor was but a tool for her satisfaction. Mari was fully in command. I had not seen her take charge like this before and it only fed my obsession. I wanted her to use me like this. I desperately wanted to be the sole object of her pleasure.

Now was the time to take the action necessary to rid myself of this loathsome man. Creatures of habit, Mari and Victor always used this spot for their trysts. Two days ago, I had hidden the vial with the water from Centrum Carminis nearby. Their water vessels lay to the side of the blanket, currently behind them. They were further oblivious while she fucked him. It was time to deliver the package.

I rolled his bottle away with my invisible foot, behind a large tree. The vial was nearby and it took me only a moment to pour out a small quantity of his bottle and replace it with the liquid song, the Curse of the Dog. Moments later the bottle was back in its place.

I confess that my erection became so hard that it was nearly painful. My plan excited me. Victor's imminent ruin excited me. I thought of all the ways I might introduce myself to Winter, how I would ingratiate myself. How I would bed her and fill her with my passion. She would tell me her secret name. I would sing such songs to her that she would never feel unfulfilled again. I began slowly stroking at the thought of our shared destiny.

Mari was fully heated now, and slid onto Victor's penis, finally allowing penetration. She let out a guttural moan as she did so. I doubled the rate of my masturbation at the sound of her ecstasy, confident that it would be the last time he ever entered her. I knew his fate was nearly sealed.

Now Mari's abdomen and hips worked in waves, grinding on him. Her hands traveled from his pectoral muscles up and behind her head. She ran her fingers through her own hair, never breaking rhythm. Eyes closed, she seemed to chant.

"That's it. Right there. Right fucking there. I am going to cum.

So. Fucking. Hard.

"

Each word was punctuated with a thrust of her hips. I saw perspiration on the back of her neck as she piled her hair high. I marveled again at her beauty, from the soles of her feet to her shapely legs, to the beautiful bisecting scar, to her precisely balanced breasts, to her graceful neck, to her perfect teeth, her symmetric face topped by blond hair gone wild. As she thrust her hips, I stroked my penis at the same rhythm, imagining how it would be to release into that body.

Cum hard she did, and I unceremoniously ejaculated behind a tree stump. Mari shouted a curious mixture of half words and then collapsed on his chest, panting. Her back glistened. They were quiet and the only sound was the wind in the highest part of the tree.

Mari flipped over gracefully, landing on her back next to Victor. I watched but did not see his semen drip from her. She had clearly meant it when she told Victor that it wasn't about him. She laid on her back with her knees bent and arms at her sides, eyes closed.

Victor made for the bottles, as expected. He opened his, and took a long, appreciative look at his lover. He seemed to be taking in the tender moment. He did not drink.

I nearly jeopardized the entire affair at that moment by forcibly holding his mouth open and draining the spell into his cursed gullet. Such was my impatience while I waited for that hated man to drink.

Mari stirred on the blanket but did not open her eyes, one last moment of post-orgasm bliss. Unknown to them, their final moment as lovers. I wanted to pace but the scene was so quiet I dared not move. Victor still seemed to hesitate and I wondered what spirit might have him under its protection. Drink, damnit!

Victor drank from the bottle, and was thus spellbound by the Curse of the Dog. So heinous is the curse that even the forbidden books spoke of it with caution, and in oblique terms. I only knew the full song after the desecration of Centrum Carminis. It is particularly insidious because the target shows no outward effect at all. It's so subtle that it's difficult to pinpoint, but it's unavoidable.

Mari opened her eyes and regarded him. I watched closely as her expression changed from tenderness to confusion to something much darker. Victor saw it, too.

"What is it, Mari? You don't look happy."

"I don't know. Something isn't right here. Hand me my clothes."

He dutifully passed her clothes and watched as she quickly dressed. Mari's underwear was still wet. Victor visibly grew more concerned at her wordless behavior. He capped his bottle and set it aside, but it was already far too late for him.

"Mari, what the hell is going on? What's the sudden hurry? We still have time. What's the matter?"

She finished buttoning her shirt and stared at him as she would a gutted buck hanging on the hunter's pole. I admit that I was downright gleeful as I watched her back away from him. I watched his confusion turn to panic, and I laughed to myself.

"Mari! Talk to me!! What is it?!?" He made to grab her arm, but she dodged him.

Holding up a hand to halt him, she said, "Victor, there's something very wrong and I don't know how to explain it but I can't talk to you right now. I need to leave. Don't follow me. I'll find you later."

But I knew she wouldn't. Mari would shun him for the rest of his days. I knew

everyone

would shun Victor for the rest of his days. There was nothing specific that branded him, but no living being could fail to be repulsed by the invisible sigil that marked him. A pariah of the worst kind, he would find no home, no comfort, no kind word anywhere. He was as a dog that could not be trusted.

She left him there, standing half naked on the ridge, and I saw that it was good.

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But what is a song? There are many aspects, but one might think of it as a warm breeze projecting in a cardinal direction. Viewed in this way, the caster must create the movement of air, fill it with heat, strengthen it with detail, and direct it.

I sat on the ridge, nearby the site of many trysts, and looked down into the valley of the house with the wide back yard. The nature of the spell to be cast demanded that I must stand with the moonlight on my skin. I had rarely been in this place while fully visible. Under the full moon and clear sky, the appearance of my own shadow on the familiar ground surprised me. I had spent so much time invisible that I felt exposed in this state. The effect was that I felt as though there were many eyes upon me. I looked around but saw neither man nor beast. It was time to begin.

The song was filled with meaning, light, warmth, and it carefully concealed something sharp. It flowed from my mouth for hours, moving the air. My hands made the motion to stir the air and direct it down to the valley, down to the house with the wide back yard. Into the bedroom of Winter and the balding man. Into their shared bed. Into her sleeping ear. In her dream, Winter would welcome the warm breeze, and barely feel the prick of the needle.

How is the psychic Needle Charm meant to manifest? Winter would awake and feel something missing, but it would not be Victor. She might look under the bed, or in the cellar. After some time, she might simply shrug and go about her day. But the needle would be in place, a festering wound, and she would increasingly miss something deep in her heart. Though she would try and ignore it, Winter would feel longing in the quiet hours, a melancholy she could not address. She would find herself looking for a particular, yet unknown, face in every crowd. Over days and weeks, the longing would begin to drive her mad. Without intervention, the wound would eventually take her. Indeed, the only cure would be in my waiting arms.

The needle would burrow deeper every day, and more so when I commanded it. When I thought of Mari, my obsession.

My nemesis banished. Mari my own.

Such is the power of my song.