The Proper Use of Magic

Wren squirmed in the pillory, but the wood was heavy and the latch held quite well. Too well, in fact, for metal that should have rusted with age- she doubted it was really a relic left over from a more barbarous time, but rather something Lord Hugh had commissioned in recent memory for use in his own dungeon. She sighed and resigned herself to being stuck, naked, with her knees on the ground and her head and wrists locked in place. It was probably too late to tell Hugh that she'd changed her mind and would be happy to share his bed. When he'd come to the jail to get a good look at the newest female prisoner, he'd made her an offer, and she'd responded by sticking her tongue out. This did nothing to deter a tyrant who'd gotten used to treating the village jail as his own personal brothel; there was a bruise on her left breast from the liberties a guard had taken in wrestling her into his carriage.

Lord Hugh had the face of a fairy prince from a story book, lavender eyes, and light brown hair that framed his face ever so becomingly. She could not see any of this at the moment, though, as he was standing behind her with his hand appreciatively stroking her bottom.

"You should be thanking me," she grumbled. "You don't want any bastards running around the place, do you? The witches of this isle have been selling potions of fertility and barrenness since your grandfather's time, and no lord before you has ever complained!"

"Yes, well," came his silky voice, "my predecessors didn't take the unlicensed use of magic quite as seriously as I do." He gave her cheek a light, almost affectionate pat. "Girls who flout the law must be chastised somehow." Suddenly, his hand came down much harder, and Wren jerked in place at the sting on her backside. This must have pleased Hugh, as he slapped her three more times and then reached down and pinched her swinging breasts, even where one was already bruised. Better a spanking than the rack, she supposed, but that comparison didn't make the pain any duller.

Nobody had known the practice of magic would result in such indignity when the young lord took his father's place. The lords of Winterisle had alternately encouraged, tolerated or ignored witchcraft since anyone could remember, and nobody had ever had to go to the mainland to get an official license from the queen. Even hearing the rumors about the new lord's depravity, Wren hadn't thought anyone would really go to the trouble of arresting her for a few paltry potions. As Hugh aimed a few slaps even lower than her arse, she wished she'd studied battle magic instead.

"Lovely girl," he murmured. "I do like a plump thigh on a woman."

"Fuck you!" This response earned Wren another stroke between her legs. One of these days she was going to have to learn how to hold her tongue. Wren was stinging and reddened all over when Hugh finally stepped around in front of her. She was a bit nearsighted and he had taken away her glasses, but she was positioned perfectly to see the thick bulge in his trousers directly at her eye level.

"I think you need a lesson," Hugh said, "in the proper use of magic." Wren looked up in surprise as far as she could- she hadn't heard anyone say anything about the lord being a magician himself. He took a few steps away from her and brought forward an ornate wooden box, and Wren shook her head to get the curly chestnut hair out of her eyes as he opened it. At first she thought it contained some kind of porcelain figurines, and would have turned her head upward in questioning if the pilory had allowed for it. Lord Hugh squatted down beside the box, gave her an incongruously boyish grin, and removed two objects which he held directly in front of her face, and that was when she she began to understand.

"Being a law-abiding citizen," he said, "I do have a license to use magical objects. It's a bit of a hobby of mine, and I've collected some fascinating ones. Can you guess what these are?"

Wren had no idea what the soft-looking object molded to look like a rose might be, but the emerald-green rod made her eyes go wide. She knew the ridges that lined it by heart; she had studied books of monsters and demons since she first took an interest in magical texts, and paid especial attention to the charts of their anatomy. The bulb at the top of the rod was curved slightly upward with a frilly little flare, and the body was outlined in scales, culminating in a swelling like an animal's knot before the base. Wren knew what it was, but the blood rushing to her head made her too dizzy to nod.

"Modeled exactly after the cock of a dragon," Hugh said. "Cost me a pretty penny. Your punishment will start with the smallest, until you've been trained to take the largest. I have the feeling your penance will last quite some time. The rose has a delightful enchantment that will hold on to you via suction. They say Catherine the Great invented the first of these, but I suspect that may have been a legend."

"You don't-" Wren mumbled, but she didn't finish her sentence. You don't have to lock me up for this, she wanted to say, you could have just told me you had these and I would have said yes to anything! But her words were cut off when he placed the rose exactly on top of her clitoris and the petals bloomed open, then closed, sucking on her skin gently but insistently. Those thighs Hugh had praised squeezed together in pleasure, and her hips arched upward of their own accord. She could barely hear Lord Hugh chuckle in the background.

The next thing she felt was his hand, slick with oil, rubbing along the outside of her anus. She mumbled a faint protest when he pushed his finger in, but he simply spoke over her- "Yes, I think it will fit." She gasped when he pulled out, but then her gasp became a choking cry when he pushed the dragon phallus up her arse. Her body stretched and contracted around each ridge, bump and swelling, and she was clenching like mad when the real enchantment started. Everyone knew a dragon's magic was woven into its very being, but she had no way to expect the magician who'd made the device in its honor to be able to replicate the famous vibration of its body.

Tears of pleasure were falling down Wren's face when Hugh undid his pants and shoved his cock into her cunt, already dripping wet. With the humming suction beneath her, the vibrating wand lodged inside her, and now the tyrant's warm flesh pounding in and out of her, it didn't take very long for Wren to reach a screaming orgasmic peak, which shook her from head to toe. Hugh dug his fingers into her hips and thrust like mad, shuddering to feel her shaking around him.

"Oh, god, that's good! I shall enjoy...oh yes...I shall enjoy correcting my brazen girl!"

Wren could only think one coherent thought through the haze of ecstasy: she would have to escape as soon as possible. If she didn't, she was going to lose her desire to.