Spellbound

"I don't think I can cry anymore," he tried reasoning with her. It was amazing enough he did the first two times. And now he felt so much better - scourged, relieved, renewed.

"You will," she promised him. "I'll make you."

He squirmed anxiously on the bed, the ropes holding him tightly in place. He eyed his flaccid dick laying just over his vulnerable balls and looked up at Morgan with great concern. "What's the final ingredient?" Please not more pain. Please not more pain. Not in this position.

She ignored him for now, and took a potion-like flask from the nightstand and drizzled an exotic kind of oil over his limp penis. He sighed in hopeful anticipation as it dribbled down his sensitive skin, and she told him to stay still. She took all of him in her hand and massaged the oil in firmly. It soon felt pleasantly hot, and wet, and almost exactly how he pictured sex might feel. He easily stiffened back to his full length in her hand, starting to moan and sigh as she tended to him.

It was so good, this sensation of being fucked in her hot, slippery fist. It didn't even feel like a fist, but like every description he'd ever heard about a tight, hot vagina, soaking wet and wrapped around him. After a few sensual moments Morgan had increased her pace, tugging him fast. Tristan was helpless to rock his hips, pushing himself into her, groaning as his pleasure began to peak.

Morgan removed her hand and let him twitch in the chilly air. He looked at her, mouth hung open a bit from the betrayal. "I need tears of frustration," she told him.

"Ah, no, please, no!" he squirmed in his binds.

Due to her ceaseless mind tricks, the lack of her was exactly as intense as the ecstasy she'd given him just before. He was so close. It would have only taken a few more pumps of her hand. Tristan helplessly arched, as though trying to search out that hot fist again.

"Please..."

"Wait," she told him.

He flattened his back against the bed and sighed hard. The artificially heightened feeling of frustration irked him. He'd just do it himself if she wouldn't, but he couldn't escape.

She returned to his side just a couple of moments later, and took his rock-hard length again in her fist. This time he cried out loudly from the relief of feeling her touch again. Her fingers, coated in the deliciously heated lubricant, squeezed him just perfectly, manipulating him again to the edge. "Oooh! Please- please-" he panted, driven wild by her methodical pumping. "Ahhh!" He shut his eyes as his muscles began to tense.

She let him go again, and his deprived erection pulsed just over his abs. "Please don't do this to me!" he cried out, desperate and beginning to break down. She'd actually drive him mad if she kept it up.

Again, she massaged him, and again he was tricked into believing somehow that this would be the time. This time, she'd fuck him in her hot fist until he came everywhere. But it wasn't to be. The third time, too, she let him go just a couple of seconds before he could cross the point of no return.

He whined and complained bitterly, squirming desperately, trying to free himself.

"Don't bother. It's pointless. I can do this all night long. And maybe I will. Maybe I'll keep you like this, hard and dying for release, until morning."

He responded with a deep groan of dismay.

The next time her hand massaged him, Tristan tried to trick her a little. Even though the pleasure was intensely stimulating, he kept his moaning down and tried to not give away how near he was to spasming in pleasure and coating her knuckles in semen. But she could tell, anyway, letting him go right before he might have finished. It was like this cruel witch could feel whatever he felt. She admonished him sharply for his attempt at deception.

"Do you need another spanking, Tristan? Maybe a larger audience would teach you a lesson. Or something that stings much worse than my hand."

Maybe, he thought. He'd take anything. Any contact. Just let him fucking come. "I'll do anything you want! Please! Don't do this to me all night long!"

She ignored his bargaining and began a different tactic on his quivering erection. She only teased his cock this time, sliding a finger or two up and down his length. It felt very nice, at first, but ten minutes later it became just as frustrating as before. He needed more of her touch, more fingers wrapped tighter, and for her to rub much faster. He ached with need, even as she gently fondled him. With a sigh of frustrated indignation he threw his head back and groaned.

"You'll make my balls fall off," he complained. "I'm dying."

"That won't happen. You believe in a lot of silly superstitions, don't you?"

The nerve of a witch accusing him of not being grounded! He moaned into the arm stretched and tied over his head and tried again to pump his hips. She gripped him just enough to warn him, and told him that he'd only be allowed to finish once she got what she needed.

It was so unfair. Everything between his legs twitched with need, but especially his swollen cock. She'd gone back to taking it into her whole fist, and helped drive him further over the edge by kissing his bare chest and neck and lips. He moaned now with great abandon, lost in dizzying pleasure. He panted as he neared orgasm again, his moans growing closer and closer together.

"No," she told him, letting go. "I'm not even sure if I'm going to let you come at all. Maybe I'll leave you tied right here and step outside for a walk."

"Please!" he said. "Don't, don't!"

She'd turned to head out the front door, and just in that moment, Tristan broke down again, tortured by his acute need for release. He ached with the discomfort, not just his engorged sex, but all of him. He didn't cry very much, and it was entirely silent, but a few tears of frustration formed and rolled down his cheeks.

Morgan collected her prized rare ingredient, and her hand slid down his chest, over his stomach and abs, and finally wrapped around his erection again. "You did well," she said. "Do you want to be rewarded?"

"Please! Please!" he groaned, arching into her. "Please let me come!"

She kissed his neck and pumped him hard, sliding her hot fist up and down his throbbing cock. Poor Tristan was so distraught from earlier he just kept on begging and begging. All his moans were interlaced with a please or desperate cries to not let him go, to keep going, to not stop. He'd lost all control of himself already, even before he neared the edge again. He was fully helpless to her as she worked him in her hand. His groans were turning into low, wild screams. She stroked him even faster as the pleasure coursed through him like surges of electricity. "AAH! AAHH!" he screamed into the night. "PLEASE DON'T STOP!!"

She didn't. His screams continued as he tumbled over the edge, every muscle in his body tensed up tightly. Tristan had never felt anything like it before, each intense spasm of pleasure pulsed through his entire body and core. It went on for twice as long as usual, and he soaked Morgan's hand and his own abs with far more semen than usual.

His heart pounded as the last of it drizzled out. It felt like she'd drained everything he had in him. Morgan told him he'd been very good, and she'd now let him go free. Delirious and shaking, Tristan only nodded. The last thing he could remember was his head going light as Morgan whispered a single little word to him. Sleep.

It wasn't all a dream. At least Tristan knew that much. Even when he woke in his own bed, cleaned up and dressed in his usual T-shirt and boxers, he wasn't fooled. There were little bits of proof. His phone on his nightstand still showed the map, the location of the great big weeping willow tree. There were some pine needles caught in his sweater that rested just over his chair. And he never put clothes over his chair. Someone else did that. Her.

Tristan lay his head back on his pillow, his head spinning. That really happened to him. Magic and all. At first he was only frightened and upset. Why would she hit it off at a party, pretend to meet him for a date, and then do that to him? He felt a humiliation so deep that he sunk down under the covers, hiding himself away from the world.

Wasn't that his greatest fantasy? Getting completely dominated and overpowered by a beautiful woman? Having sexy women watch him get punished? But he wasn't in the right state of mind last night to enjoy it. Maybe now in hindsight, if he could possibly get over the fright of magic and witchcraft existing. Or perhaps he'd simply lost his mind.

Before he could start calling doctors and fret any further, memories emerged from the depths. They floated slowly up to the surface and Tristan, looking for any sense of normalcy, grabbed hold.

It was the sort of party where few really knew anyone but the gregarious host, and nobody seemed to mind. The music was good, spirits were high, and the drinks were free. Morgan and Tristan had been talking idly all night. They'd found each other equally attractive, and had sneaked away from the loud music to talk under the moonlight.

"I love fall, but I already miss the flowers," she said. "Especially orchids. I always do that. In winter I'll miss the leaves, I can already tell."

"I often miss the season I'm not in, too. It's not weird. Or maybe we're both weird together."

This was how they talked to each other. Open and free. Tristan didn't know she was an enchantress then, but he did find her utterly enchanting. Two hours later he was opening up to her about things he'd never told anyone before, especially as the topic had changed to their biggest sexual fantasies. His strange sense of ease made sense, looking back on it, because she was half reading his mind, knowing just what to say or not say.

So right there on the lawn, Tristan began to divulge one of his biggest secrets of all. "I have this one fantasy I'll never get. It's literally impossible."

"What one?"

"It's so embarrassing," he shook his head.

"Tell me. I have a very open mind and I really don't think anything's impossible."

He began slowly, testing the waters. "I kind of want to be tied up. Maybe, you know, dominated a little."

"That's not impossible or all that embarrassing. I've done things like that to guys before. It's very hot."

"Really? Well, it's not just that. I wish it was just that. I also want to be humiliated, and maybe... maybe even spanked."

Morgan just nodded, and didn't laugh, like she'd heard it all before. It brought him enough comfort to continue. "Still sounds very exciting to me. How's this impossible?"

"The problem is that the biggest part of my fantasy is that it would happen against my will. But once I give my permission, it wouldn't be against my will. And once my fantasy started happening, I'd probably be so into it and enjoying it all so much that I'd never feel truly overpowered."

"Maybe you could completely forget you gave me your permission. Even forget that it's your fantasy at all. Just for a little while."

"What, like, just magically forget?" he teased.

Morgan smiled at him before kissing him for the first time, a short but sweet exploration, tongues barely touching. He felt a spark from that one kiss alone, his heart soaring with the potential new romance. Once she sat back on the grass, she made a decision. "Meet me next weekend. Okay?"

"Yes, okay," he said. Very easy decision. And even if it wouldn't be his truest, deepest fantasy, they could get close enough. They could pretend.

But they didn't actually have to pretend. Morgan spoke to him more that night about his secret submissive fantasy. Then she actually did a lot of it for him, making it feel completely against his will the entire time. With magic, just like he'd teased.

He rushed back to the chair in his room, looking through the clothes from last night that she'd laid out for him, trying to find a number or any sign of her. He found a crumpled note in his pants pocket, decorated with her feminine cursive. No number sadly, but a coy message.

It was. The experience she gave him was incredible, now that his memories fully returned, and he felt himself stiffening in his shorts as he recalled the events in this new light. It was a gift he could keep forever, and he'd think about that wild night for as long as he lived. Never had he felt so utterly powerless and thoroughly belitted. It was wonderful.

He wanted to see her again, at least to thank her. But they never exchanged numbers that night at the party. She might not have had a cell phone, being a witch in the woods. It didn't seem like something any magical being would carry.

At a loss for better ideas, he found the creepy old weeping willow tree again shortly after work. He sat at the base and waited there for her, hoping, searching the sky for brooms, just in case that legend was real too.

"Morgan?" he tried calling into the wind. No response.

Tristan waited under that tree as the sun sunk away, as his stomach growled for dinner, and even to the point of his teeth chattering in the now-biting cold of night. Every time he thought he should just give up and head home, he assumed she'd appear a minute after his departure. So he kept waiting.

Just after his phone's clock ticked over to nine o'clock, the enchantress appeared before him at last, arms crossed, looking down at him.

"M-Morgan," he stammered through a chill. He held up a gift to her, an orchid he'd purchased for her from a flower shop. It was drooping a little now in the cold, but he'd tried.

"Aww," she said, her features softening. "Come here."

He stood at her command, and she enveloped him into a warm hug.

"Look at the state of you," she softly scolded him.

"It was everything I hoped," he told her. "It was. I'll never forget it."

"Good," she said. "Come along, before you catch your death."

Now, as she took his hand and led him into the woods, he didn't need to be mesmerized to follow. He did it of his own accord, most willingly.

The cottage turned out to be real, right down to the vines creeping up every wall. He'd asked to be sure, since all her illusions were so vivid. She promised him this was her true home, but warned him not to attempt to find it without her help.

Inside, she put her orchid in a vase and showed her shivering guest to a couch. She covered him with a thick blanket, and prepared hot, sweet tea, and buttered toast.

"Thank you for the orchid. It's beautiful. My favourite."

"I just wanted to thank you."

"Oh, is that all you wanted?"

He sipped his tea and looked away bashfully. Was he expected to have all his deepest, most secret fantasies come true, and then be content to never see her again? He changed the subject. "What's it like, being a witch?"

"I can pretty much do anything I want, but usually I just want to be left alone."

That wasn't what he really hoped to hear - the being left alone bit. He took far too long to chew his toast, and Morgan rescued his feelings in his silence.

"I mean, generally speaking. I'm glad you're here. Tristan."

He brightened, and asked another question that had been on his mind. "Did you actually need the ingredients? The tears?"

"Yes," she said. "Various potions use them, some extremely powerful ones. You made them very easy to harvest. But you know I magnified all your emotions to get you to do that, right? In case all that embarrasses you now. Sometimes I made you less afraid, but the shame, guilt, and frustration were all intensified."

"I figured," he said. It was wonderful, in hindsight. The entire experience from start to finish was so intense. "And if you ever need more tears..."

She smiled at him through the steam rising off her tea mug.

He knew that his mind, reeling with desire and about a thousand more questions about her magic, was completely open to her. There was nothing he could do about that. He didn't know when she'd peek inside, but she could at any moment. Still, there was something uniquely comforting about how she didn't run away screaming after she'd seen so much of him and his secret thoughts and feelings.

It was harder to deal with not knowing her mind. She was just as mysterious as any human woman he'd wanted to date. Was she even interested in a potential relationship, or just humouring a lonely guy?

She began to handle his onslaught of worries before he'd even gotten the chance to voice them. "I'd like to see you again too. You're very sweet, and interesting, and I like the way your mind works. You're respectful and treat me well. Maybe you're a little needy and clingy, but we all have faults. I can be too reclusive. Perhaps we'll balance each other out."

She was also wildly powerful, and he was just a normal man. She was dominant and he was submissive. They could balance in all kinds of ways. After his grateful sigh of relief, his eyes couldn't help but skim over her, scanning up and down, soaking up her beauty.

"Tristan, you're having a lot of naughty thoughts suddenly, aren't you?"

He nodded slightly, since it was pointless to lie to an enchantress. But it was still embarrassing, sometimes, the places his mind went.

"What happens to naughty boys?" she asked him.

He grinned a little now, bashful but very willing.

In seconds he was over her lap again, his bare bottom being warmed very consensually by her firm hand. He found himself struggling slightly as the spanks reddened his backside. Soon he even cried out some complaints as he wiggled and pulled his ankles up.

It was so much better than he'd thought to be spanked with his full permission. While he did have more control than he cared to have, he also enjoyed the ability to sink in and relish the sensations and mood. The helplessness he craved wasn't hard to fall into when turned over a knee for punishment.

Tristan stayed in place to accept his entire spanking, refusing to wiggle away from her punishing hand. He realized that this situation wasn't a matter of her taking away his power so much as him willingly offering it all to her, like a gift.

This version was also far more exciting in the moment. He grew hard while squirming over her thighs, feeling the burning sting growing to blanket his entire backside. But last night had its advantages, too. It was so real and visceral and left quite a lasting impression.

Morgan stopped to rub and squeeze the fleshy bottom of his sore cheek. "You're so cute over my lap like this, getting spanked. Sit up, let me see you."

He obeyed, sitting up and moving to pull his jeans and shorts back up, but she pushed them back down. Then she took off his sweater and undershirt, exploring his exposed skin, the light touches giving him goosebumps.

She pointed to the bed, "Now that you're you again, and in your right mind..."

They kissed slowly and deeply on the bed where last night Morgan had him tied and tortuously edged. This time she left his hands free to explore her body, and didn't stop him when he felt her chest over her top. His fingers brushed over her hard nipples, making her moan against his lips. Morgan didn't like bras, it seemed, and Tristan was more than willing to support her in this stance.

He pulled up her shirt and took in the sight of her. They were beautiful, soft and full breasts with dark nipples. He took one at a time in his mouth, pleasuring her with his tongue, feeling her nipples go hard as he suckled each in turn. He moved to kiss the fullest part of her breasts, gently feeling the rest in both hands. She arched, pushing more of herself into his mouth and hands, making him rock hard. He moaned against her as his hands slid down under the waistband of her skirt.