The Dark Moon Coven
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The Coven
Chapter I: Sorceress
Lizbeth felt ill. Her throat was dry, hoarse. The air was hot and moist, but a chill wracked her bare flesh. She felt dirty. A coarse grit clung to her skin, as she lay in the darkness; cold stone against her breast and belly, cold iron against her wrists. The air smelled awful, the odor of human stink wafting through the tunnels and assaulting her without mercy. Beyond the thick iron bars that lined the cell door's only window, she saw only the faintest flicker of firelight from a far-away sconce. Worse, however, was her memory...
As dark as her own cell, Lizbeth's mind felt like it was full of shadows. Darkness fell on all corners of her thoughts, as she tried to recall the chain of events that had led her to her current predicament. Her head throbbed, and her body ached. Lizbeth tried to move her legs, and felt the grit against her flesh as she tried to reach her knees. She was naked...or almost so. The first attempt at motion brought her attention to a feeling of cold metal between her legs -- something was inside her. Not deep, merely pressed against her vagina, like a smooth oval just penetrating between her lips. She was shackled at the wrists, but there didn't seem to be any chains binding her to the cell, nor even her hands to each other. Still, a wave of sickness washed through her as she rose to her feet.
With unsteady steps, she walked to the cell door. The thing inside her made the movement feel unsettling, violating, but it was far from the worst of her worries. She smelled something few others would be able to detect in the air. Lizbeth smelled enchantment.
She was a Sorceress. That much was easy to recall, and the workings of magic were fleeting but still present in her mind. Lizbeth didn't feel any energy inside her, none at all, and the emptiness led her mind to other fears. Reaching the door, she thrust her hand out of the bars and into the hall -- twisting her wrist in the dim light while straining her neck to see. A triad of runes were etched into the iron cuff, and even without her memories the manacle's purpose was clear. Anti-magic. Her heart sagged, as she staggered back into the darkness. So long as she wore them, Lizbeth was without her magic -- her power was cut off.
With a sad sigh, Lizbeth felt around herself. She was naked, save the cuffs and the thing invading her sex. She brushed away the grit from her bosom, but it was a vain effort. In the sweltering heat of the dungeon she had no chance of getting it all off of her sweat-slicked body. She let her hands move down, finally. Perhaps the thing inside her should have been her first concern, but she feared discovering its purpose. Lizbeth bent her knees out and pressed her hand to her sex. The object was like a dome, smooth and cold, cupped against her sex and affixed in place by no obvious means. A small protrusion inside it fit snuggly into her vaginal opening, parting her lips and letting the cool surface touch the inner wall of her labia. A slight nub at the top nudged under her hood, pressing against her clit. It cold; surgical and precise. The object's weight alone should have made it fall out, but it was probably magic -- stuck to her via a simple spell. One she could have removed with ease, had her hands been unbound.
Touch, alone, was not enough for Lizbeth to discern much more about the device. Deciding it was best to remove it, she tried to pry her fingers around its contours -- hoping to work it free of her sex via more mundane methods, if her magic would be denied her. The moment her fingers breached the edges, however, the device began to resonate.
A dim blue glow emitted from the thing, illuminating the filthy confines of her cell. The device stung slightly as it thrummed, first teasing the wall of her labia with a twinge of energy -- then with a shot of agony that surged through her sex. Lizbeth shrieked, her shrill voice piercing the silence of the dungeon as she fell to her knees then her side. Both hands thrust between her legs, clutching at her sex as the pain only grew. Sharper, more intense, the sting sensitized every inch of her womanhood; ravaging her pussy with electrical energy, stinging her clit with a single powerful jolt. The pain was maddening, and altogether too much for her frail body to handle. But it was over in seconds, even if it felt like an eternity.
Lizbeth lay on her back. Tears filled her eyes, soft sobs choked in her raw throat. Her pussy hurt, but the pain waned mercifully quick. Perhaps the spell that held the thing in place was stronger than she thought. Nonetheless, the device's magic had left her feeling a hundred times worse. Lizbeth curled up on her side, clutching her stomach...and cried.
The Coven
Chapter II: Man
He woke. His eyes split open, and the darkness of sleep gave way to a blinding white. He felt a soft breeze against his skin; plush cushions at his back. It took time for his eyes to clear, his vision to adjust.
The room was...small. But not quite stifling. He lay upon a comfortable, stark nude and wholly unadorned. There wasn't much inside the chamber, a simple table at his bedside with fresh fruits nestled temptingly in a wicker basket. There was a door, but it had no handle or hinges and there was not a single window in sight; leaving the source of the persistent breeze a mystery. He didn't question it. The air felt good. In the corner, an ornate full-length mirror sat.
Rising to his feet, he stretched tall and strong in the light. He could not discern where the illumination came from, either, but like the breeze he chose not to question. Wherever he was, it seemed designed for comfort. His comfort. The Man caught a glimpse of himself in the silver-framed mirror, and smiled as he strode closer to view himself in full. He was tall, he was strong -- his body well muscled and chiseled like a perfect statue. Not a single strand of hair grew upon his perfect flesh, every inch of him smooth and taught. He flexed, enjoying the look and feel of his body; eyes drifting downward to the swaying member between his legs.
In his short life, he had known no other men by which to compare. But he knew from what Lizbeth had told him that his manhood was ideal. Big, but not monstrous, he was well endowed with a perfect penis and two large, precisely sized balls dangling perfectly behind. He was perfect. In every way, in every sense, and he was so very proud to know it. Nevertheless, there was something missing -- and he could not quite place his finger on it.
The Man looked around his meager trappings. Though not yet bored with the mirror, the whole of his predicament had begun to wear on his mind. He could bask in his own perfection later. Or better yet, curl Lizbeth around him and let her bask in it, as well. But something was wrong, the room, the bed...all of it. Lizbeth was missing, and she would never have left him alone in a place like the one he found himself in. She could be a bitch, and mean things had been said and done between them -- but she loved him, and would never have caged him there.
That was it, of course. The room was nice, but it was indeed a cage. Pretty, perfect. It suited him, but it was a cage nonetheless. The world was confusing, and he had been a part of it for only a brief time...he was sure he would understand what had happened later. That it would make sense, that it would all come to him...or be explained when his mistress returned.
The Man looked again at his perfect self, posing in the mirror for a few moments longer before he returned to the bed. Sitting himself at its edge, he plucked a fuzzy peach from the basket on the table. Sinking his teeth in, he let the sweet nectar run down his chin; dripping, coolly, on his chest. He took another bite and savored the flesh of the fruit, the subtleties of its taste -- the feel of its texture on his tongue, in his hand. The sensation of fullness as each bite reached his empty belly, sating his hunger with ease. He devoured the fruit down to its hardened pit, and finding that unedible, he set it aside on the table. His hands and mouth were sticky, as was his chest, and he looked around perhaps a bit foolishly for something to clean them.
A subtle chime interrupted the Man's search. The door faded away entirely, and for the first time he saw the darkened stone hall beyond; and a figure nearly as perfect as himself eclipsed in the light.
She was Woman. Like Lizbeth, but so unlike his lost love it was stifling. And stunning. The Woman before him was tall, though not as tall as he, and of a voluptuous build. Her bust and hips bore greater curves than Lizbeth had, her garments tighter and more accentuating than the thin dresses that Lizbeth used to wear. This new woman was shorter slightly, with long, dark hair in contrast to Liz's locks of spun, flaxen gold. The woman entered, wearing a dress of tight red leather that hugged her hips and a top showed much of her breasts; which in turn were larger and more tempting than any of the fruits he had been provided. With each languid stride, he felt his manhood throb.
"It looks like you've made a mess," the woman said. Her voice was like silk and honey, but it hid something. She clapped her hands once, and two more figured appeared behind her.
They were women, too, but it was harder to tell. Both wore hooded robes, their faces obscured in the shadows of the dark fabric; laced with intricate styles and patterns he did not yet understand. Still, he saw from the curves of the robes and the look of the girls' faces that they were not like him -- he was still the only one. The two girls drew near, one bearing a bowl, the other a soft cloth. Together the robed girls worked, one dabbing the cloth in the water then reaching out to cleanse the sticky nectar from his chest. His chin. His hands. It felt odd, it was not the sensual touch that Lizbeth had used...but he began to like it.
The Woman in red clapped again. "Leave us," she said.
"Yes, Mistress Kael," they said in unison. With simple bows, the robed girls left the room -- and door faded back into being. Leaving him alone, with her...
"You are looking well," the woman, Kael, said; her voice lovely and sweet...but dark. "After all you have been through, I am sure you have a lot of questions. Do not fear my sweet, they will be answered in time."
Without warning, Kael pulled a string on her dress, and the top fell away. He sat and stared at the perfect bosom set bare before him; their beautiful curves and tender, pert nipples. Wasting little time, she shimmied out of her dress wholly -- letting the garment fall to a heap on the floor, and letting the Man before her see the dark-haired mound between her legs. Though the act was sudden, his own body responded just as fast. He felt an ache in his balls, and his perfect penis throbbed as it rose to a splendid erection.
"I know this is sudden," she said. "But words will come later. Now, you do what men do -- take me." Kael spread her arms and closed her eyes, a waiting receptacle for whatever acts of lust came naturally to Man.
And lust did come naturally to him. He stood slowly, every ounce of him wanting nothing more than to step forward and ravage this woman as wantonly as he had once ravaged Lizbeth...but there was something wrong. Something about the whole thing that made him question his natural urges. It was hard. His eyes took in the sight of Kael's nakedness; her perfect tits and the soft curls of her pubic mound. He smelled her heat. Her desire. He wanted to bask in it, to wrap himself around her and take her then and there...but he remembered Lizbeth, all too well.
He hesitated, catching a glimpse of her delightfully rounded ass in the mirror. But he grabbed a pillow, and hid his throbbing manhood from sight; trying desperately to fight his instincts.
"I...can't." The man said. His voice surprisingly tender and meek.
Kael opened her eyes and stared on with disappointment. "What is the matter? Are you broken..?"
"N-no! No." He said. "I just... I can't. Where is Lizbeth..?"
Kael's eyes darkened, and she glowered at the man with disgust. "Do not worry about her anymore," she said. "My sweet, I saved you from her -- and I want you to do to me what you did to her."
He shook his head. "I can't..." He said. "I'll...I'll hurt you. Like I hurt her."
Kael frowned, but forced it into a tender smile. "Do not worry about that," she said as she strode closer, nearly pressing herself to him. One hand found his strong shoulder, while the other grabbed the pillow from his grasp and tossed it aside. Kael stared down at his still-erect penis, and let a lone finger play along his shaft. "You're big, but you won't hurt me. I'm not a little whiny brat like Lizbeth, you know." She brought her wide, dark eyes up to meet his.
The man eased his hand to her hip, letting his fingertips brush against her. She was soft. He smelled her arousal, and wanted nothing more than to do as she asked -- but he knew the consequences. Even if she didn't. With a sudden burst, he pushed Kael away. She yelped and stumbled over her discarded garment, landing sorely on her ass. True anger flashed across her features, though she was quick to suppress it.
"I can't!" The man yelled. He sat, dourly, at the bedside and grabbed another pillow to hide his erection.
Kael rose to her feet and gathered up her dress, holding it close to her. "Very well. Perhaps later," she said. "I suppose I do have other business that needs attending to, anyways. Some time alone might give you the chance to...reconsider your options."
Then the woman was gone. The door faded away at her will, she stepped outside, and the room was once more sealed. The man stared at himself in the mirror, and wiped the tear from his eye.
Mikhaela
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