Winter’s Tale
11 Seventh night, part 3 — Enchanted
In the moonlit gloom a lonely vixen wended her way out of the undergrowth, looking for prey. In a way, she found some, but it was not hers to claim. Layla, Summer and I turned to look at her, scarcely ten paces from us, charmed by the sight of a fellow huntress. Boldly, she met our stares for a moment, flicked her head to let us know she was not to be trifled with and trotted into the night. Amused, we returned to the business at hand: my subjugation.
Summer orbited around Layla, effervescent from her experience under our beloved’s yoke, more in love than ever. Their dynamic now had a connection I did not share, though that was about to be rectified.
As decisive as I had hoped to sound, my appeal to be placed under Layla’s control was riven with fear and they both saw it. With my enslavement at hand, apprehensions gathered in the shadows to daunt me. What was wrong with me? I knew I wanted Layla to dominate me like I knew my name, so why did reservations buzz around me like angry flies? The notion of her making me obey made my insides churn even more than the thought of her bite. Could she quell these unworthy worries with the force of her will? Was that why my need was so great? Was I not equal to the task of overcoming my misgivings that I might be making a mistake?
We were raised in the elven tradition to cherish freedom above all else, so the transgression of sacrificing my liberty was considerable. Once the subjugation of my mind had begun, Layla could do whatever she wanted with me. My heart and my quim craved that so acutely it was hard to think, but what thought remained told me this was madness, that I had somehow been tricked into this position.
It would have been incredibly ungracious of me to question our beloved’s motives when we were the ones who had asked for this, yet still I had doubts. If I committed to the process, only Summer would have any chance of making Layla let me go, but by the gleeful look of my sister, she wanted me enchanted more than any of us.
Nonetheless, I reached out to my twin in search of reassurance. Recognising my concerns she took my hand, bolstering my courage.
“Fear not, Win. It will be wonderful. All that you ever wished for; I promise. It will bring us all closer together, closer to Dahlk,” Summer assured with a fervour I rarely saw in her.
Clearly still as high as a lark from her turn under our beloved’s spell, I wanted to believe her, but it was a challenge. Consciously or not, right then and there she lacked perspective about our vampire lover. We were both understandably biased about her, but Summer was taking that to another level. If we went ahead with this, she might not protect me if things went awry.
Layla placed a hand on my arm and softly assured, “You do not have to do this if you are not ready, my love. We can do this some other night.”
Feeling better for having my fears respected, I sensed our benefactor was lending me room to express whatever I needed before she took possession of me.
“Thank you, Layla. Thank you, both,” I let go of my sister’s hand to squeeze our lover’s instead. “Please forgive my weakness. Beloved, you would do me the greatest honour if you would… take control of me. May I please make it clear my desires are not in harmony with my sister about this. She clearly loved being mindless, but I want to know what you are doing to me. I want to obey, but I also want to know I am obeying. I hope that is not too much to ask.”
“Your intuition impresses,” Layla said, and I drank in the compliment. “I can influence mortals in a variety of ways. Make them slaves or allies, have them want whatever I want. But you wish your will bound to my own, compelled, yet leave your awareness free while your will is not. That is a fine art. That said, you have a fair inkling of how much I love you and would do anything to make you happy. So, it would be my honour to indulge you.”
How did she always know the perfect words to melt my heart, to placate me, even to make me want to give up my free will? Whether this was insanity or not, the affect it had on Summer proved it was a madness greatly to be desired. Layla was far more magical than the sum of her considerable powers. She was love itself and my heart was already hers. With newfound resolve and genuine certainty in my voice I confessed, “I want that, my love. Please. I want to be enslaved to you.”
“Then kneel and I shall set all your desires free,” Layla instructed.
I obeyed at once, that disturbing quim-chain image came unbidden to drag me to my knees again. It was so easy to do as she commanded, I had to wonder how I would know if I was obeying against my will.
She took my choker, sacrament of my submission, from her bag with graceful hands and examined the metal closely. Summer withdrew a couple of paces and stroked her collar, trembling in lascivious delight. I could tell she was looking forward to seeing mine locked about my throat.
“You saw how powerful this was in bringing your sister under my power,” Layla stated, holding it flat across one hand while gliding fingertips along its edge.
“Yes, Layla,” I said quietly, my breath racing.
“I shall weave an enchantment so your submission will fit your desires as truly as this collar fits your neck,” she explained and softly breathed a series of mystical syllables over the circle of silver. As she traced her fingers across it, they left a trail of dim blue witch-light fading behind them, illuminating her fine features. She had not done that with Summer’s collar. I hoped my sister would not mind I was getting special treatment, though it did not look like she cared so long as it brought me under our beloved’s power all the sooner. When Layla ceased her chant and nodded her satisfaction, I assumed her spell was ready.
“Now, Winter, accept this collar and understand when I place it on you your acceptance means obedience. It will not remove your will but make my will superior to yours in all matters,” Layla demanded.
“Yes, Layla, I understand. Thank you,” I confirmed, so excited I barely knew how to contain myself.
“Good. Know that this will be more profound than when last I collared you. My control will run much deeper. My spell will harness your mind so you will do anything I choose. You understand, yes,” Layla decreed, cloaked in authority.
“Yes, Layla. I understand,” I said, a servility entering my voice, while my heart raced on.
“Good girl. Become my slave and I will set you free. Prepare yourself,” Layla commanded.
“Yes, Layla,” I responded. In anticipation, I lifted my plait out of the way just like Summer, vainly hoping I looked as hot as she had. It was hard to credit there was a time, barely an hour ago, when Layla had doubted she could beguile us. I believed in her power, in our love and was certain she would succeed.
“Good pet,” Layla said and pushed the choker into position about my neck as she looked to Summer. The cold metal was a shock, stinging against my bite, stirring darkly desired memories of her painful kiss. A hope that she would drink from me again while under her control was my final thought before I heard the click of the clasp.
The metallic snap seemed abnormally loud as it sealed my fate, binding me until Layla chose to relinquish her hold. At first, I felt little difference. That brute force domination Summer had experienced, like Bella before her, did not materialise. I was wildly excited and very turned on but that was how I had felt all night.
She gracefully, flicked her hands three times to conjure that pale blue light to her fingertips. I eyed them with wonder, guessing how their power might feel.
“Now, my pet, you very much want me to use my magic upon you and, because I love you so, I shall. Close your eyes and focus on the bond we share,” Layla explained. Were those the same words she had spoken to Summer?
“Yes, Layla,” I breathed, trying to quell the storm building within me, afraid my excitement might interfere with Layla’s enchantment.
I did not have to wait to learn what power her fingers held as she pressed them to my temples.
Suddenly, my head was a dry riverbed over which my mistress’s magic flowed, irrigating the waiting spells with which I had been prepared. The latent magic within the collar locked about my neck was not the only waiting receptacle. The dark symbols I had asked her to paint across my brow were thirsty for the nourishment her fingertips supplied. Perhaps I should have realised they served some other purpose than displaying my allegiance to our goddess, but I really had no idea. Icy pinpricks in my flesh, those tiny stars I had seen on Summer, denoted the passage of her power. The mark of Dahlk became cold and heavy as within those sacred geometries which mapped my devotion something accumulated.
“Our bond connects us, brings us joy, makes us one. Through it, I will give you what you want. I will guide you to your desire. I will influence you. I will gain power over you. You want this,” Layla stated. I accepted every word and in so doing felt a strange inflexion inside my head.
“Yes, Layla,” I agreed and found myself reciting, “I want this... I want this... I want this...”
Realisation struck hard that she was making me say those words and I could not stop myself. It was happening. After all those years rapturing myself to this one idea, my desires were finally being fulfilled. I wanted nothing more than this moment, this feeling, this dream, and eagerly gave myself over to the chant. No gradual dulling of emotion as Summer exhibited, I sung out my affirmation, over and over even as she spoke again.
“Very good, thrall. You have a talent for this. Our bond is clear, your mind is open to me,” Layla stated. There was no surge of submission as when she took my twin, no plunging of my mind far below, but there was a change. My mark felt like a strip of sky torn from the night and implanted in my brow.
“I have you now, Winter. You are bound to me. I feel the shape of your mind. You flow into me. I flow into you. Yet you feel yourself, yes?” Layla asserted.
“Yes,” I quickly confirmed without properly assessing. A swift appraisal noted the stinging on my mark and under my collar had ceased and, while my mind still seemed to be mine, there was a new presence inside my head, though it was hard to identify.
“Good. You are ready. Now Winter, see me, deep and true,” Layla demanded.
I opened my eyes to stare directing into the loveliest eyes I had ever seen and instantly knew I could never look away. Their beauty only grew the more attention I gave. Within them, I spied a tiny point of light, an ancient orange glow, like a campfire in a distant cave mouth on a starless winter’s night. I peered deeper and deeper, so the fire grew larger, brighter, until it burst into life with all the fire in the world contained in those twin orbs. How had I not seen it before? Was this why I had never been able to ascertain the true colour of our beloved’s eyes? Power thrummed across my mark as some intangible part of me drifted into her, like a brief, ethereal exsanguination. I loved it. Whatever I had expected, this was not it.
“Leave everything behind. Become my slave. Be mine,” she decreed.
Her words were undeniable. For a glorious, timeless moment there was nothing but her. No night, no world, no Winter, nothing. Only Layla. Then she released her grip on my temples and everything was as before. I was no longer transfixed. Her spell seemed done. Was that it?
There was no accompanying thunderclap, no momentous subversion of my will. Despite the numerous odd sensations, I felt little difference. Briefly checking myself and my perceptions, I was in awe of Layla, she was the most important person in my life, so there was no change there. She leaned back and I felt a great swell of adoration for her but that too was now normal.
“Stand up, slave,” Layla commanded. There it was. A mighty heave, deep in my mind, a sudden awareness of my collar and a categorical, urgent need to comply at once. I stood as quickly as I could and it felt joyous to do so, suffusing my whole body with a sensuous affirmation, complemented by an additional jolt to my sex at being called a slave. I wanted her to call me it again.
“Are you well?” Summer asked. I nodded slowly. “What is it like?”
“Good. Very good. I am myself; much less anxious. It is hard to recall why I was so worried. The collar feels peculiarly agreeable and there was a strange, wonderful sensation in my head when Layla spoke,” I replied, rooting about inside my skull for more data, as I absently stroked my slave collar. I turned to our beloved. “Especially at what you just called me.”
“If you liked that, slave, you will love this. You may no longer call me Layla. Tonight, my slaves will address me as Master,” Layla declared. Her command sent a gratifying shudder through me.
“Yes, Master,” I replied instantly. Trying a few mental repetitions, I discovered I still knew her name but could no longer think the word, without the imposition of Master over it. A smooth, tremendous, pleasurable tug of compulsion made me switch without missing a beat every time.
“Master. I felt that. The magic works, Master,” I announced delighted at the effect, feeling a tremble within my quim as the fragments of my fetishes began to slide into alignment.
“Of course,” Master said, smugly.
“I did not doubt it, Master. May I ask why ‘master’ and not ‘mistress’?” I wondered.
“There are certain traditions among my kind. When I engage servants, take lovers, or make pets, I would be called mistress. Making a slave differs. I have made you a slave, so I have ‘mastered’ you. Thus, I am your master,” Layla explained.
“As you wish… M-Master. Ah!” I cried out as my eyes rolled back.
Riskily, I had put effort into saying her true name aloud, just to experience the compulsion and the pleasure it dragged in its wake. The magic she had poured into me irresistibly enforced her edict and made me double over with a mighty throb in my quim. Pleasurable sparks cascaded down my spine. Freezing pinpricks ran across my mark.
“You tried to say the name I forbade, yes?” Master discerned.
“Yes, Master. Please forgive me. I wanted to see how deep your control ran,” I panted, recovering.
“Forgiveness is unnecessary. You are teaching yourself that your mind is mine now, and I prefer to incentivise obedience rather than punish disobedience. Though test me again and you may regret it, slave,” Master smirked. It seemed less of a threat than a flirt. She could see the effect calling me slave had on me and toyed with it. I liked it.
“So, I see. The pleasure of obeying is… quite extreme. It is hard to resist when the reward for compliance brings such gratification. I must obey,” I found myself saying almost involuntarily.
“As I suspected, slave, you enjoy resisting. Moreover, you revel in having your resistance purged. That cannot be properly savoured when one is mindless, as your sister prefers,” Master surmised, cleanly delineating my needs. Summer shrugged behind her. As much as I burned to obey, for reasons unknown I craved the exquisite agony of being forced to do so. “Let us play with that. It is my will that you should try to resist this next command. Strip naked, slave.”
As her words settled over me, my first thought was why would I want to resist any command from my beloved? My need to obey her was why I agreed to being enchanted in the first place and this new pleasure that suffused me when I complied made it absurd not to. But that reasoning clashed with my intention to test the limits of Master’s control and her demand that I had to try.
The dissonance of the conflicting commands made it clear why she had taken this approach. If I stripped naked, I would be obeying; if I resisted, I would still be obeying. Deny or comply, it made no difference, either way I was following her will. At that point I began to feel the confines of her spell.
An insidious chill radiated from my collar and mark, as they put the power Master had filled them with to use. The sensation was demanding, unlike anything in my experience, like a living thing squirming about my brain. It soaked my mind in magic and began to weave about my thoughts hemming me into the two options Master had presented. Refusing to choose was not a possibility.
Retaining my awareness of my beloved’s control was double-edged. To have my thoughts controlled satisfyingly scratched the deepest itch within my psyche but the reality of feeling my volition torn from me a piece at a time was truly disturbing. For one panicked moment, I was gripped by a paranoid notion that I had been grotesquely tricked and had never wanted to be controlled. Master’s spell swiftly flowed like tendrils of freezing, black fog through the chambers of my mind to wrap that ugly notion in coils of darkness and drag it into the void, forgotten as quickly as it had occurred to me. Feeling I had just lost track of something, I ignored it and set myself to my task. I must decide.
Of the alternatives, I reasoned resistance best fulfilled Master’s wishes. It paradoxically comprised denying and complying, whereas removing my clothes would only negate her other command. I would worry about fulfilling that later if I was unsuccessful in my first subservience.
Also, it would be good to know, one way or the other, if my will could stand against Layla’s spell. Summer’s mind had been so thoroughly consumed it would not have occurred to her to resist, which may have been a blessing. If I failed, I might be made a passenger in my own body. Caught between my long-held fantasy and the horrific prospect of being made a living puppet, I felt the chill touch of her spell seeking out my objections to smother them in darkness. The sensation felt oddly familiar, but I could not remember why, before I forgot they had ever been among my thoughts. Feeling I had just lost track of something, I ignored it and set myself to my task. I must resist.
In the scramble to marshall my thoughts, now swimming in Master’s magic, I had not realised my hands were moving until I pulled the silk square from my wrist and ostentatiously dropped it in front of Master. If I did not concentrate my resistance would be brief. The impression that I had just forgotten something was off-putting, but the magic circled inside my head, seized the distraction and dragged it into darkness, purifying me to apply myself to my purpose. Feeling I had just lost track of something, I ignored it and set myself to my task. I must obey.
I focused on Master. Her towering strength inspired me, even as it compelled me. Arriving at the contradictory conundrum that being more like her was my best hope of being more myself, I could see no other choice. I felt sure if Master wanted to, she could force me to obey with a mere look, but she remained neutral, letting her spell and my ever-deepening fetish do her work.
Glancing at Summer, it was clear she took great pleasure in my situation. She had the same predatory look on her face I probably had when our situations were reversed. Slowly sliding her hands over her body and collar in wanton sensual abandon, it was remarkable how quickly she had been subsumed by the voyeuristic pleasures of watching me being dominated. Perhaps, knowing the delights that awaited me made it harder to restrain herself, I could not tell, nor did I judge her. I had been trapped by the same temptations when watching her enslavement. Regardless, I abandoned any vestige of hope she might intervene.
My rebellious hands once more moved unbidden, reaching to unclasp my cloak, but I refused. Victory was momentary. My collar hummed with power. Half expecting it to choke me, instead, the magic bloomed, searing my senses. It was not pain exactly, but something like it, and was more than I could withstand. Concentration disrupted, again my hands rose, again I pulled them down. What should have been a trivial movement made me sweat with the effort.
My resistance was met with a mighty counterforce that yanked both hands towards the clasp. At the last moment I tore them away, holding them like claws, inches from my face. Taking everything I had just to hold them still, the nightmare of losing control of my own body began to erode the borders of my mind.
“Your will is impressive,” Master complemented, and I took courage from that, “but this is only the start of your acceptance of what you have become.”
That did not help my efforts. My yearning to concede control to her was immense. I was relying on her command that I resist to hold back my capitulation. That said, the prospect of surrender was daunting. My whole life I had taken for granted that everything I did was a choice. Even submitting to Layla felt like my decision. But now the potential reach of her control intimidated as much as it aroused.
What if she made me hurt someone? What if she made me endanger myself or Summer? Could I refuse if my life was threated? Why had I not considered these risks before? I had begged Layla to do this to me. What was wrong with me that I needed it so badly? But as each concern formed the stygian tendrils inside my head methodically enveloped, smothered, then vanished them into the void. With each doubt’s annihilation, I was left with fewer reasons to resist.
The strain was becoming gargantuan. The crushing pressure of the magic oozing through my head began to spin hallucinations out of my senses. Phantom silver bands, matching my collar, materialised about my wrists, to squeeze control of my limbs from me. Defiance buckling under the onslaught, my hands no longer responded to my commands. They smoothly drew towards the clasp. I watched helplessly as they released the hook from the eye and cast both over my shoulders, sending the cloak fluttering to the ground.
The beginnings of rapture rippled around my quim. My best efforts had been for nothing. I had yielded to the majestic force of Master’s spell and, goddess preserve me, I adored it. My deep-seated need to be forced to obey fulfilled, there was no stopping the orgasm that ripped a short, sharp scream from me and flung it into the night.
The brief climax washed my head clear of the spell’s domination for a moment and my hands answered to me once more. Though I had lost a battle there were more to be fought. Though futile, my resistance had taken a huge effort. Realising my rapture had been due, in part, to my resistance to the rising tide of Master’s control, I tried again.
As the afterglow quickly faded, the compulsion to strip built once more so I interlaced my hands into a tight ball in the way some humans pray. I had barely got them to lock together when the spell’s pressure demanded obedience again. Trying to generate strength, I told myself over and over that I had to resist, I had to obey by resisting. This soon proved counter-productive, as I slipped into chanting only that I must obey.
Master’s true intention was that I strip rather than resist, and this was as plain to the spell as it was to me. Realising that, I understood I had been viewing the magic as if it was some other intelligence exerting itself over my body. In truth, I was the one trying to take my clothes off. Just as I had asked for, I could see myself doing Master’s bidding. The spell was empowering the darker parts of me that wanted to obey, while devouring the parts that tried to resist.
Master stood a pace away, enjoying my struggles. No doubt I looked ridiculous struggling with my unruly hands, but her gaze did not make me feel foolish, quite the reverse. I felt admired, I enjoyed her attention. That patina of cruelty had returned to her countenance, the same wickedness that had infected me earlier, yet it only made her more beautiful. With a lick of her lips she showed her approval, spurring me on. Summer leaned in behind, gently grinding her body against Master’s, watching my downfall, manic eyes willing me to fail.
Master’s insistence that I resist was only her way of wearing me down and it was working. I watched my hands pull apart with ease, so I clasped them to my chest. The spell grew impatient, its pressure yielding flickers of cold blue fire from beneath my collar to lick my neck. Startled by the light, it played havoc with my mind, my spirit, my will and drove me deeper into delirium.
Laughing at the madness of it all, I sensed shackles about my ankles, more echoes of my collar. I could not see them, but they felt so real inside my boots. This was impossible. Nonetheless each band exerted the same icy pressure as the collar, crushing my mind, grinding my resistance, building and building, the sensation now truly painful, the pain now a thing of pleasure. I slowly writhed in place, wracked in delightful agonies, trying to find a posture that could relieve the growing excruciation. Nothing worked.
Convinced the shackles were all real, the spell’s intensity grew five-fold. Another mighty heave inside my head was so violent it bent me double. Somehow, I stayed on my feet, dazed. When I could peel my eyes open, I realised I had lost.
My hands had gripped the hem of my dress and were pulling it off me as I stood up straight. Frantic demands to my limbs went unanswered as they hoisted my dress over my head and cast it to one side, exposing my naked body to the night air. My drenched quim stung by the cool air to complete my defeat, yet the cold could not hold back the enormity of a second rapture, fiercer than the first that barrelled through me. I staggered as I tried to come to my senses. I had not so much as touched my sex. Was there no piece of me Master’s spell could not invade?
Only my boots remained, but I was exhausted, breathing hard, awash with acceptance that I must obey. Groaning, I yielded to the spell, and awaited the next compulsion, hoping it would decide for me which boot to pull off first so I would not have to choose. With my surrender the searing pressure of the spell metamorphosed into blessed, warming relief, offering balm to all the pains my resistance had brought upon myself. This last kindness vanquished me. After the torture of resistance, the boons of obedience drained all further fight from me. The spell had won. Now, I would obey any command.
“I yield. I can resist no longer, Master. I am enslaved,” I announced. Standing to attention, awaiting the spell’s next manipulation, I was not ready for a third orgasm, but the spell cared nothing for my acceptance. Subjugation crashed through my cunt, ran up my spine and reverberated through my collar to the four phantom shackles about my extremities. I spasmed and crashed to all fours, then spasmed again and again, collapsed, grass in my mouth, as I writhed on the turf.
Master and sister observed, engrossed by my defeat, enjoying the display. Summer leered, as she draped herself across our beloved’s shoulders. My eyes were drawn to my sister’s wrists, sporting silver shackles, identical to mine. Were they real, conjured by Master’s magic, or hallucinations wrought by whatever the spell had done to me? It made no difference. I no longer cared. Even my perceptions belonged to Master.
Softly stroking Master’s alabaster neck with one hand while pointing a casual finger at me with her other, Summer said, “Now she begins to understand the ecstasy of enslavement, the freedom it brings. Thank you for doing this to her. It is just what we have always wanted. I am so happy you enslaved us both.”
She kissed Master on the cheek while I lay twitching before them. Master craned her neck to slip her tongue into my sister’s mouth and I could only watch them explore each other, hands on breasts, heads softly grinding against each other. Master’s slender fingers reached around to unbind my sister’s plait to let her hair hang free.
“I exist to create these beautiful moments, slave. They are precious beyond compare. We shall make a thousand, thousand more on a thousand, thousand nights,” Master purred to Summer. Still delirious, the mathematics of her declaration confused and frightened me. She looked at me over her shoulder. “Finish your task, slave. Boots.”
“Yes, Master,” I eagerly said. Sitting up, invigorated, a fresh rush of joy suffused my entire body at obeying even the slightest command. Was I still myself? I seemed to be, but I was more. Now I welcomed the numbing, inky tendrils of her magic inside my mind. Exactly as I wanted, I was still me, only now I had no doubts about what I truly was: a slave who lived only to obey.
Our boots were goat-skin leather. Mother made them with us last year when she taught us elven craft, from tanning to final stitch. They were hard wearing yet fit like socks up to just below the knee. I was justifiably proud of them, but they were rendered meaningless in the face of my obedience. I pulled the first one off and tossed it aside. It was merely an impediment to fulfilling Master’s whims.
I was unsurprised to see the silver shackle above my ankle, some four inches long, tapered to the shape of my calf, with no obvious hinge or clasp, as if it had been cast in place. Its perfect fit made me suspect it was unreal, but I only cared that Master had placed it there. I hurriedly removed my other boot and was delighted to discover a final shapely silver band. Now fully naked save for my shackles, I examined all four, tapping them experimentally. They were beautiful and seemed solid. I kissed both bracelets, silver on my lips. Real enough.
“Do you like your pretty shackles? Appropriate for such a pretty, pretty slave, yes?”
“Yes, Master. I love them,” I panted, looking over the bands with naked lust. A slave should be shackled. What a lucky slave I was. Master had bested me, as we all knew she would. Perhaps she would let me grind one of my bracelets into my quim for her amusement.
I scrambled to a more proper kneeling position befitting my new status. The silver chill of the anklets against the backs of my thighs contrasted the carnal warmth with which my body now rewarded obedience.
“That was a most exquisite display, slave. I thank you, truly,” Master complemented, which sent more delicious heat across my flesh and an indecent throb through my magic-addled mind. She turned to Summer and asked, “What shall we do with your sister now?”
My mind swam with so many delicious ideas of how I might be used, but it was not my place to speak unless spoken to. I was a slave now.