Familiar Calling

All characters over 18, consent dubious but they totally would it's porn don't @ me.

-

Oliver's breath quickened and he shut his eyes tightly, hips arching towards the ceiling. Closer, closer now, he could feel it. His hand, slick with sweat and pre, slid up and down his throbbing cock in a blur. He could feel the urge pressing inside of him, yearning to get out. He could hear the roar of blood in his ears, and imagined the sound of her voice tickling his brain - that distant dream-like voice, calling him a good boy, telling him to let go.

He whimpered, flexing inside and trying to force it out. It was there. She was there. Right there! So close! Let it out, get it out! His dick spasmed and he felt his insides clench-

But nothing came.

With an anguished cry he felt it slip away from him, the pleasure and the yearning, the pressure inside of him reducing to a dull ache. His penis, moments ago a towering spire of lust, began to wilt. Already his memory of her, of her body and her voice, and her lips upon him and her teasing laugh, was slipping away. Damnit! He'd been so close this time!

He was still horny, he hadn't found release. But he couldn't cum. It had been six days. Six days of frustration and denial, six nights of the beautiful woman he could barely remember coming to him in his dreams, touching him and stroking him, making him groan and beg to be able to pleasure her, to kiss her body and lap at her folds and thrust between her legs like a madman. Each time he woke up, stiff and aching, orgasm just out of reach, the woman a tantalizing memory he couldn't quite recall. And each time he tried to finish himself, dream or no dream, but found that he couldn't get release. Not just in that morning, but at all - he could get hard, often would even, but his body denied him pleasure and satisfaction.

Groaning with frustration, he peeled himself from his wet sweaty sheets. He'd have to wash them again, lest he have to lay there every night surrounded by the stink of his own sexual denial. Maybe that would be appealing for some, but to Oliver it just enhanced his frustration, made him feel... inadequate.

He wasn't bad looking, he thought to himself conciliatorily, rubbing his haggard face and stubbly chin as he stared mournfully in the mirror. Certainly he'd seen better days, with dark circles around his eyes from sleepless nights. But he'd always taken good care of himself. He prided himself on his independence - single, and not looking. Healthy, financially stable if not well off thanks to his job as a sound designer, an island that needed no one. He wasn't a hermit by any means, he had friends and family he kept in regular contact with, but for the most part he lived a solitary existence and he had always found that it suited him. Made it easier to work, for one. Relying on others for emotional or personal stability was not his strong suit.

He turned on the shower and stepped beneath the hot water with a grown, rinsing away his sweat and the smell of his urgent lust. It still bubbled away, deep inside him, but for the moment he was able to push it down again. If the last week had been any indication, that peace of mind wouldn't last however. Independent he might have been, but even he had to admit when he needed help, when something was wrong beyond even his ability to control. Splashing water over his face, he sighed. He'd have to go to see the Witch Doctor.

--

Doctor Adebayo looked nothing like the cliché and offensive stereotypes popularized by the late 20th century would make one think he would. He was an older man, with short trimmed hair and beard that were turning grey, dignified but friendly looking, dressed in a white coat and office attire. The only thing that would give away that he was a doctor of not strictly physical medicine was a small woven charm around his wrist, and the ceremonial mask he hung on his office wall - a relic of 'wild college days' he said with a wry grin and a wink.

"Well Mr. Acton," the Doctor said, looking over the chart of bloodwork and labs he'd ordered after his initial consultation with Oliver, "I can say with 98% certainty that medically speaking you are perfectly healthy. And that last 2% is mostly just accounting for error."

Oliver grumbled inaudibly and rubbed his face, pressing his fingers against his tired eyes. "Well that's a relief, but it doesn't change a thing about my problem does it?" he asked testily, biting his tongue to reign in his tone a bit.

Dr. Adebayo clicked his tongue thoughtfully and nodded. "No, if what you say is true - it does sound as if you've been afflicted magically, Mr. Acton. Perhaps by a succubus or oneiros. Are you sure you have no idea where this might have started? No enemies, or perhaps, ahah... admirers?"

Oliver sighed, looking up from his hands to gaze at the ceiling, racking his brain. "No. Not - not either. I'm mostly a private individual. I don't... a client maybe? No, probably not. Frankly, I've not got a damned idea," he scowled, running a hand through his hair frustrated. "I can barely remember the woman in my dreams, I just know it's the same one every time."

Dr. Adebayo hummed thoughtfully, tapping his notepad with a pen. "Yes, this woman... what can you remember?" he asked, knitting his brows.

Oliver racked his brain, trying to remember the things that seemed to willfully slip from his mind the harder he tried to grasp them. "She's... beautiful. Of course. A little bit older than me. With black hair, just a touch of silver at the roots. A lilting voice, teasing in my ears. Very prominent lips with purple stick... and she uses them to..." Oliver trailed off, shuddering slightly. His poor abused cock throbbed in his trousers. "I don't remember much else, Doctor, just that we engage in very lurid acts, that we both seem to be enjoying quite a bit, and just when i'm about to... when things are almost over, I wake up. And it never finishes. Even when I try to-" he stopped, glancing down with reddening cheeks.

The Doctor stroked his beard, looking at Oliver intently. His expression was suddenly unreadable but stern, as if he was considering something very carefully. "From the look over we've given you, it's definitely magical in nature. But for it to be someone who doesn't know you - or someone you don't know, someone you don't think you've met with no connection to you... that would be very powerful magic, Mr. Acton. I've been practicing for many years, and I'm afraid I might be stumped by this one."

Oliver slumped in his seat, practically withering before the Doctors eyes. He shook his head and patted the young mans shoulder sympathetically. "Still, it's not all bad news," he added. Oliver looked up at him hopefully. "I know someone. A... specialist. She deals with very potent curses, usually. I think she might be able to help you."

"I'll see anyone, do anything. Just to sleep peacefully again," Oliver swore. He was almost beyond even caring if he could ever orgasm again. Almost.

Dr. Adebayo looked at him sympathetically. "Yes, I had a feeling you might say that... Give me a moment, I'll write your referral and get your appointment set up. I think she might be able to see you today. Yes, once I tell her about your unique case, I'm almost certain she will."

Oliver sighed in relief and clasped the doctors hand, shaking it vigorously. "Thank you. I just want this to be over. Whatever I need to do, just let me know."

Dr. Adebayo smiled and steered Oliver around, directing him to the front of the office. "Yes, yes, go upfront. I'll be just a moment. My friend will take good care of you, I wager. Call it a hunch"

As Oliver left, Adebayo watched him go with a mixture of concern and sympathy. "Ah well, it's for the best, I suspect," he muttered to himself.

--

Less than an hour later, Oliver pulled up outside a lovely little two story cottage beside a creek on the edge of town. The specialist he was seeing was a witch by the name of Lilah Anvari, who ran a private practice out of her home. He passed by a neatly tended garden full of rows of herbs and vegetables, stood vigil over by a gaunt scarecrow made of old brooms and a tin pail for a head. It seemingly wasn't very effective, and the crows perched on and around it uncaringly, leering at Oliver as he walked by. He whistled and waved an arm at them, but they didn't so much as bat a wing. Spooky, Oliver thought. Or just cheeky little bastards.

He paused at the door, adorned with a small sign that read 'The Hag is In!' that had a small cartoonish witch in a wide brimmed black hat painted beneath. Chuckling softly, he rang the bell, before lightly knocking. There was a pause of about half a minute, before he heard the sound of an audible click coming from the door. "Come in~" called a distant lilting woman's voice, "Door's open I'll be with you in just a minute~"

Oliver opened the door, which swung open with nary a creak despite it's weathered appearance, and stuck his head in. The inside looked like nothing more than the entryway to someone's cozy home. There was a faint familiar scent in the air, something like lilacs, that put him at ease. He stepped inside and wiped his feet carefully on the welcome mat before closing the door behind him and coming inside.

"Miss... ah... Doctor? Miss Doctor Anvari?" Oliver asked, peering around the corners of the entry way. To one side was a kitchen, clean and modern. To the other was a living room with soft furniture and a dimly lit fireplace, faintly crackling with burning embers. Ahead was the stairway to the second floor, and trickling down the stairs came that lilting voice once more - "Yes dear, I'll be right there~ Just step into the den on your right for a moment hmm, feel free to sit down~" the woman called.

She sounded... not as old as he expected, but friendly. Something in the back of his mind gnawed at him as he walked into the living room and sat down in a large recliner. Everything was fine, he told himself, trying to feel at ease. Dr. Adebayo had highly recommended her, and he'd never steered him wrong before. It was hard to find a male androcologist that specialized in both magic and medicine, and Oliver had always been glad to be one of his patients. The thought of having to go to a female doctor about a problem like this...

Of course, that's exactly what you're doing right now, isn't it? He interrupted himself mentally. He frowned and shook his head. Couldn't be helped. He just had to trust Dr. Adebayo. The doctor thought he was cursed, and this woman specialized in curses.

Behind him, he heard the audible click of a woman's heels on the wooden paneling of the cottage steps. Oliver twisted round and peered up over the back of the recliner to get his first glimpse of the witch as she rounded the corner. She was slightly older than him, with faintly tan skin and a Persian nose set beneath brown eyes. She had long black hair brushed back over her shoulders, slightly greying at the roots, and wore a black witches robe with a scoop neckline, a necklace with the staff of Asclepius hanging inside her tantalizing cleavage. But most notably were her lips, soft and full, and painted a vivid purple. She locked eyes with Oliver and smiled. Oliver made a noise like a man being strangled.

Recognition crossed her face a split second before the slow grind-stone of Olivers brain rocked into place and he leapt from his chair with an alarmed shout. "YOU!" he roared, stumbling away as if he had beheld a beast.

She briefly blinked in confusion before her eyes widened, and her polite smile stretched into a Cheshire grin. "Me? Oh. OH!"

"OH!?" yelled Oliver, pointing at her accusingly with a trembling arm. She walked toward him and he retreated, stepping backward until he nearly fell over against the wall beside the fireplace. The witched approached him carefully and reached out and took hold of the hand pointed at her so menacingly.

"You came," she purred, stroking his fingers. Oliver shuddered and tried to pull away, but had nowhere to retreat to. She held firmly to his wrist, before wrapping his fingers with hers. "You finally came to me."

"N-no, I... this is a mistake! You're not real!" he cried, clenching his other hand into a fist and drawing it back, panic and distress overriding all sense of propriety. But he couldn't move it, his arm locked into place like he was jammed. He glanced at it and then turned his gaze to stare at her, eyes wide, color draining from his face.

"Shh, shh, it's OK," the woman whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek. Despite himself, Oliver shuddered. Her touch was electric, it made his spine tremble. It was her. It was her, the woman from his dreams. His tormentor. His enemy. She stepped closer, invading his personal space. Finding he couldn't move, Oliver whined in his throat, eyes tearing slightly. "Oh you poor thing, you poor precious thing, you've had it so hard," she murmured to him, planting a kiss on his chin. Despite himself, Oliver felt himself becoming soothed. "So hard..." she repeated, stepping up against him. He felt her body brush against his and nearly lost himself. Suddenly, he was hard again, just like in his dreams. So hard his dick was straining in his pants like an iron bar.

Oliver panted and gurgled, shutting his eyes tightly as he felt her lean up under his chin and kiss his neck. Soft prints of purple trailed themselves down his throat, and he felt her fingers scratch soothingly against the back of his scalp. His cocked arm dropped limply to his side. "Who are you," he croaked, "what have you done to me?"

The witch smiled, twining her arms loosely around his upper body. "Lilah. My names Lilah Anvari. Ah, my precious, I've been waiting for you to come to me for so long... But you've been so stubborn, so ridged. I had no idea the patient Adebayo was sending me would be *you*," she purred, nuzzling his chest.

Oliver sighed and opened his eyes a sliver, mind warring with his bodies sudden inability to resist or do much of anything at all. "I don't know you... why are you doing this, what's happening?"

Lilah took his hand and brought it up to her cheek. "That's right, I don't know you. But that will change. We'll get to know each other very well, now that the spell has brought us together. I called for you. My partner. My familiar, my very own precious one at last," she grinned, rubbing her cheek against his palm. "I'm excited. Are you excited? You feel excited~" she cooed, her other hand rubbing against the tent that had begun to form in his pants.

Oliver gasped and tossed his head back and forth. "No, they were just dreams, a curse!" Despite his denials his cock strained out towards her. He'd never met this woman before in his life, but his body knew her, knew the pleasure she promised. A week of teasing and denial pent up inside of him, and now at last his tormentor was at hand. He was helpless to do anything as she teased lightly at the zipper to his pants with her finger-tips.

"Not a curse, Mr. Acton. Oliver. A calling. A ritual calling for a witches true familiar. Usually it doesn't take so long. Usually a witch knows her true familiar, her true lover, before she casts the spell. I got a little impatient and decided to cast a net blindly, as it were. But you were so stubborn and strong, you've been resisting the magic you silly goose." She stood on her tiptoes and leaned up beside his ear, whispering seductively. "It's a good thing you finally came to me, you might have hurt yourself..." Oliver felt the soft scrape of her teeth on his earlobe and shivered.

"I feel it too," she panted. "It works both ways. You... teasing lout. A whole week of you cockblocking me! I ought to punish you. Nmh... But we have to get ahold of ourselves." Lilah sighed regretfully and stepped back for a moment, letting Oliver breathe a brief sigh of relief. She squeezed his hand in his and smiled. "Lets go upstairs and talk, i'll explain everything."

--

Oliver followed her upstairs, eyes helplessly glued to the sway of her ass and hips as she walked ahead of him, loosely pulling him by his fingertips. Her outfit was professional for a witch, even if she was missing the stereotypical hat, but it highlighted her figure nicely in that way office cloths always could for women. He might have looked a bit even if he had been in his right mind. But ever since she'd touched him in the living room and stilled his screaming, his world had settled into a milky haze. He was aware, but it was like he was living out one of the dreams he'd been having all week. He could think and act, but it was like pushing through quicksand. It was much easier just to follow Lilah, to obey her voice. To follow her upstairs. And he may as well look at her ass while he did, or so his dick told him.

She led him down the hallway to her 'office', which was actually a bedroom, albeit one with a small ritual altar in a corner nook and a runed pentagram painted on the ceiling. Oliver hesitated by the doorway as they entered, hand falling away from Lilah's. She walked away from him towards the poster bed, hips swaying as she looked over her shoulder at him with a coy smile. She turned around to face him and sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs knee to knee. Her fingers toyed with her necklace, and Oliver felt his eyes drawn towards her breasts by the glittering of gold, cursing himself for a fool as soon as he realized what he was doing. A rational part of his mind reasserted itself and told him he should turn around and run out of that room, sprint out of the house as fast as his legs could carry him. Lilah smiled at him and he stayed rooted in place.

"So, where were we - oh yes. Explaining everything, what's happened to you. Well." She leaned back and slipped the shoe off her foot, which was clad in stockings, before uncrossing and re-crossing her legs to repeat with the next. "As I said, I cast a ritual. A ritual of finding. A witches familiar is very important, it is their bonded guide, their servant, their partner - the completion of the other side of their magic and a source of power. Some witches have many familiars. Some, just the one. It varies from witch to witch, depending on the person, and who they were meant to be with." She grinned at him, brushing a strand of black hair over her ear. "And you - apparently - were meant to be with me."

Oliver dumbly shook his head, but still couldn't unroot himself from the spot. She was so pretty, even in such non-scandalous attire. He couldn't help but wonder what she looked like with the robes off... couldn't stop remembering the way it felt when her lips and her hands touched him, both in the living room below and in his dreams. But still he shook his head, trying to will himself to step away, even as he found he couldn't. "No?" Lilah asked, uncrossing her legs and standing up from the bed to walk back over to him. "You don't think so? So you haven't been dreaming, dreaming about me?"

"I..." Oliver felt thick tongued, flummoxed. "I've been... dreaming, yes. You did this. You cast a spell on me," he accused, flexing his fingers, trying to slowly regain the will to move his body by inches.

Lilah shook her head and grinned. "I cast *a* spell. But not on you. The ritual found you, because you were the right one. My match, my familiar. I had no idea it would be you, or anyone like you. Only that you would come to me, only that you would dream of me. Ache for me, be completed by me." Very casually she reached out and started to unbutton his shirt.

Oliver took a deep breath. "No," he said, taking hold of her wrist. "I have to stop this. Stop you. If I don't--" Oliver hesitated, his grip on Lilah trembling slightly. "If I don't..."

Lilah reached out and stroked his face with a concerned expression, and his grip slackened. "No wonder it's taken so long... you're still resisting the spell. Fighting what you were meant to be..." she tutted sympathetically. "Silly, silly boy..."