Corrupting Power
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The Treat's Trick
🕑 Added 2021-10-31 00:27:17 +0000 UTCAn ill wind blew through the streets of Fort Collins, the streetlights flickering in the cool Halloween night as the power grid stumbled momentarily. Parents teased their children that it was an omen that it was time everyone should be wrapping up their trick or treating. Most of the kids had pillowcases stuffed full with chocolate delights and the hour was growing late.
Autumn in Colorado was a fickle season – some years the snows had already begun by now, but this particular year the leaves were dropping from the trees at that perfect shade of golden brown, littering in yards in just the right way for children to make giant piles to fling themselves into. It wasn't quite so cold that the kids could see their breath fogging the air, but winter would be upon the city soon, and autumn's final moments were nearly upon it.
Just off the campus of Colorado State University lay a neighborhood called Professor's Row, a tiny subdivision where it seemed like many of the faculty from the college had bought homes. As such, it was prime trick or treating territory. The professors usually gave out the best kinds of candies. Some of them were even known to give away entire full sized candy bars or comic books, and those houses tended to get children coming longer distances with parents who didn't mind giving their kids longer walks for better payout. Being the cool parent was always a good chip to have.
The houses over at Professor's Row were certainly a bit more widely spaced from each other than most of the neighborhoods in Fort Collins, with giant yards, most of which were fenced off, but in polite ways, mostly to keep dogs from wandering out into the neighborhood and to firmly establish where one property ended and another began.
Professor Tom Osman figured the last of the children had come and gone, and was considering digging into a Whatchamacallit for himself as he moved over to the stereo, ejected the cassette he'd made a mixtape on, flipped it over, slotted it back in, closed the stereo and started the music back up once more. Last year, he'd made a mixtape of Halloween themed songs, and he'd simply broken it out for this year's Halloween instead of making a new one. It was time consuming, recording one track after another, getting the flow and balance just right.
Mixtapes had many rules.
While much of the tape was Halloween themed jazz, the first track was Screamin' Jay Hawkins doing “I Put A Spell On You,” which cut through the cold air like a knife. He moved his way over to his liquor cabinet and took down a crystal snifter, filling it with three fingers of brandy, a generous pour to be certain, but nothing that he couldn't handle given a few hours.
Suddenly, he heard a tapping, as if someone gently rapping, rapping upon his front door. He set the snifter down next to his armchair and headed over to the door, stopping only to pick up his bowl of candy for the children.
He expected to hear “Trick or treat!” as soon as he opened the door, but no such salutation greeted him. Instead a singular voice said, “Hey there professor. Great costume!” Professor Osman was dressed as Sallah from the final Indiana Jones movies, The Last Crusade, that had come out a few years ago. He was certainly more Egyptian than the actor who played him was, even if it was only partly. Tom had been trying to lose weight for the last year or so, but at the end of the day, he was at least a little addicted to the slow death of fast food. The white shirt covered his pot belly, but couldn't conceal it entirely. The red and white tie helped sell the look, but mostly his tan complexion, dark beard and the red fez were all he needed. Unfortunately, he didn't teach archaeology, but a variety of history of music classes. He looked so much like John Rhys-Davies' character, though, that the outfit was his usual go to and had been since Raiders had come out. Since it was his first year at Colorado State, nobody here had seen him do it before. Next year, he would need to do something different.
Standing on his front porch was one of his students, Carla Bianchi, dressed in a Catwoman outfit. Michelle Pfeiffer's turn as Selina Kyle a few months earlier had gotten mixed reviews, but there had been Catwomen aplenty across the campus today, and Carla was no different. Most of the girls had enjoyed wearing the black latex catsuit, showing off their curves and figures. Normally Carla was a big lover of flannel and jeans, big and baggy attire, so he'd never seen her hourglass shape quite so explicitly before. She was slender with large, firm breasts, the power of youth coming through in how easily they defied gravity. Hell, Tom thought to himself, those tits could cause windshear. How had she hidden them so well before now? It almost seemed impossible. She certainly was a treat on the eyes and he found himself having to consciously make the decision to avert his gaze upwards to her face.
Unlike most of the Catwomen that had been wandering around campus earlier in the day, Carla had actually gone the extra step and done the mask and headpiece, her dark hair pinned up and tucked away underneath it, but that was Carla to a tee – always going the extra mile to make sure she was giving it maximum effort. She was a sophomore from his history of rock'n'roll class who had been engaged with the syllabus from day one, eager to learn all that she didn't know. Many of his students had admitted to taking the class because they'd expected it to be easy, only to find they actually didn't know shit about how much rock'n'roll had evolved over the years.
“Can I come in for a few minutes, or are you going to leave me standing on your porch like a stray?” she teased, folding her hands behind her back, swaying her chest in his direction. “Give a kitten a bit of time, will you?”
Tom felt strange. There were loads of fit professors, and he'd heard from them how the temptations were real, but Tom wasn't fit, wasn't carved like they were. He wasn't muscular, he wasn't immediately handsome, he was hairy and he didn't try and be flirty with the students, not that he expected any of them to be flirty with him. They were all less than half his age, to start with. Also, Middle Eastern looking men weren't in vogue since the Gulf War last year, and while Tom wasn't from Iraq or Kuwait, most Americans couldn't tell the damn difference. He was a quarter Egyptian, a quarter Greek, a quarter British and a quarter Sudanese, but all Americans ever seemed to see was the tan skin and assumed he was a “them.”
All of that meant he'd never had a student turn the spotlight of her sexuality on him, and. It. Felt. Awkward.
“Yes, I suppose you can come in for a bit,” he said, stepping back to allow her into his house.
“I do have office hours if you need to discuss your coursework, although you've been doing quite well in the class.”
There was no good reason a student should be coming and visiting him at home, he told himself in his head, but for some reason, he couldn't seem to deny her entrance into his abode. His house was an utter mess, with stacks of books littering the floors like some forgotten city of paper, forming skyscrapers that seemed like they would collapse at the first stiff wind. His IBM 386 rested on a desk in the corner, mostly used for writing lectures and keeping track of grades, the 9600 baud modem hooked up to the phone line for those rare occasions he needed to access the school's Telnet system.
His couch was mostly clear, its space in front of his massive 24” television seeing regular use, with a large Lay-Z Boy armchair off to the side. Carla made her way to the couch and sat down in the dead center of it, so Tom moved to sit in the armchair, doing everything he could to keep things professional, even while this 19 year old girl was continuing to size him up.
“You don't need to sit so far away, Professor,” Carla said to him. “I'm not going to bite you.”
“I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong impression, Miss Bianchi, so I think I'm fine over here. Now what was it you needed to talk to me about?”
“No, professor, I insist,” she said, her eyes flashing red for the briefest of moment. “Come here and sit with me.”
Against his very will, he felt his body move back to its feet and start to move over to the couch, each step a jerky motion, as if the movements were being forced upon him. “Carla, what's happening? I can't... I don't... you don't want to do this...”
When he looked at her now, her eyes, which had once been a delicious shade of sky blue, burned with a deep red glow and her innocent smile had been replaced with a wolfish grin, a predator and not the prey she had been playing at, the treat having turned into a vicious trick.
“Oh, but I do, Professor,” she purred. “I'm not Carla, by the way, but I'm sure you've figured that out by now. I simply assumed her form to get in the door. You men are always so trusting of nubile young women. It's such an easy trait to exploit. A pretty girl bats her eyelashes your way, and you are so foolish as to invite her into your home.”
Her right hand passed in front of her face and Carla's Italian features faded, along with the Catwoman mask, and were replaced by paler skin and finer features, no longer wearing Carla's face. With the headpiece gone, Tom should've seen Carla's long lustrous black curly hair, but instead saw a bob cut the shade of burnished copper, and that hunter's smile now sported two visibly larger fanged teeth. Her eyes had shifted as well, from that faint blue to a deep and hypnotic green.
“Knew... something... wasn't... right...” he struggled to say to her, his arms limp and lifeless at his sides, unable to raise them even an inch off of his couch.
“It was the tits, wasn't it?” she said with a soft laugh. “I knew I made them too big, or maybe the waist was too narrow, but what man could resist a figure like this? They're real, you know. Firm and impossibly bouncy, the benefit of youth. Here, you really should get at least a little appreciation of all the work I did.” She lifted one of his hands by the wrist and brought it up to slap against one of those mounds of flesh. He felt his fingers moving on their own to squeeze that pliant breast, and as much as he was lost in the throes of fear, he had to admit, it was glorious. “Marvelous, isn't it? Just the impossible mix of firm and soft. If you're a good boy and don't struggle too much, maybe I'll let you have the strength to play with them when I'm draining you. It would be a shame to put in all this work and it not to be appreciated. I plucked the face from your mind a few days ago and filled in the rest in what I thought might be the most alluring, but now that I'm inside, I can wear my own face.”
“Why... are... you... doing...”
“I need to feed, child,” she said, cutting him off with a soft laugh. “And it's always important to pick proper prey. You've only been here for a few months, so no one has had a chance to get attached to you.” She moved to slide into his lap, straddling him, that toned ass resting on his thighs while one of her fingertips trailed down from his eye along her cheek. “No one's built any ties to you, and so when you're found dead in a few days, everyone will simply assume you had an accident, and no one will be any the wiser.”
“Don't... vampires... leave... puncture marks?”
“Vampires?” she giggled, rolling her eyes dismissively. “I'm no vampyr, child, although I suppose I can understand the mistake. The fangs do a little like vampire teeth, don't they? I will have to remember that for next year, that maybe pretending to be a vampire would be an ideal way to hide in plain sight. Those Anne Rice novels certainly seem to have made vampires more palatable to the public at large. There are chapters from the next book in this month's Playboy so she shows no signs of stopping. But no, dear boy, I'm not a vampire and I'm not going to drink your blood.”
“Good.”
“I am, however, going to consume your essence and drink your soul.”
“Not... good.”
“Oh, you won't mind,” she said, unzipping the front of the catsuit down to her navel, pulling on each side of it to expose those impossibly lush breasts to his eyes, alluring swells of pale flesh capped with tiny pink aerola and overly stiff nipples. Her stomach was toned and fit, and his mind couldn't help but consider how it would flex were he to find some way to accelerate her breathing. “You'll be too lost in the throes of pleasure to focus on anything else. It will be a legendary bout of ecstasy to cap off your drab and little life.”
“You... don't... want... to... do... this...”
“Come now, professor,” she purred. “You're surrounded by supple young flesh each and every day, girls just blossoming into their sexuality, wanton and lustful, eager for guidance, for tutelage. It will be our little secret. Haven't you dreamed about fucking at least one of your students, plowing her tight young pussy until it gushed and creamed around your cock? Haven't you considered what whorish moans you could extract from her by using the knowledge you've gained over the years? What it would be like to savor the nubile young flesh of a girl less than half your own age? I can fill your mind with those images, wear the student's face that I wore in here if that would make the experience easier to take, give you a sweet moment to end your existence on.”
“No... need... to... hide...”
“Ah, a fighter right up until the end,” she said, nodding, sliding the catsuit off of each shoulder, pulling it down to her supple waist. He could see a dusting of freckles upon those shoulders, although none covered those round tits she kept thrusting in his direction. “I can admire that sort of rebellious spirit. Then I shall keep my own face, although I'll remain in this form, to make this more visually appealing to you. I don't even recall what my actual form looks like any more, I've changed and warped it so much and so often.”
“If... not... Clara... then... who... are... you?”
“Names have power in trained hands, Professor Osman,” she giggled, rubbing one of her pendulous breasts against his face before sliding back. Her skin was so unbelievably soft, and the scent of vanilla filled his nostrils. “But you are no mage, and you will die before sharing the knowledge with anyone who might have skill to wield that weapon. I know all of their kind, and they have faded into in-fighting in recent years. I am Siobhan O Cleirigh, and I have lived dozens of your pathetic meager lives. I have seen sights you can only dream of.”
“You... don't... want...”
“Oh but I do professor,” she purred at him, as she slid off his lap, moving to stand before him once more. “I very much want to enjoy my treat. You keep saying that I don't want this, but I'm afraid that I do. I know that you were hoping I might slide your cock inside of my immensely tight cunt, but I'm afraid you won't get that delight before you pass. No, I need to drink from you, now let's see what I have awaiting me.”
She bent over, which made those tits hang downward, but he didn't have time to appreciate the view, as she undid the belt and unbuttoned his slacks, drawing the zipper down before reaching in and fishing out his cock. It wasn't anything overly large, but it wasn't anything to be ashamed about either, although he did feel a little uncomfortable with how much hair he had around the base of his shaft, mostly black but with strands of gray and silver, like the hair on his head.
“Now professor, this simply will not do,” she scolded him before waving her slender fingers over his cock, and the hair around the base of it dissolved away, turning to dust, blowing away in the cool autumn wind that seemed to eternally creep through the house. “Having to clean my meal before consuming it feels like an unnecessary step, but the last thing I want is your pubic hair getting caught in my teeth while I'm trying to enjoy myself.”
Her fingertips moved to curl around his dick, stroking the length of his shaft tenderly, her skin cool and soft to the touch, and as much as he wanted his body to resist, he could feel his cock harden in response, unable to will it to remain flaccid, not matter how much wanted to. Her grip was light, almost like she was playing the character of a shy girl on her first encounter.
“Why professor,” she giggled, leaning in to the fantasy she'd been portraying, “I've only ever seen boys' cocks before, and they always seemed so small and timid, not like this, not like a man's dick, so big and full and powerful.” She slowly pushed his legs apart and moved to slide down onto her knees before him, her fingernails dragging along his thigh. “I'm not even old enough to have a beer, but I can't help myself, I want to drink from you...”
“You... will... regret... this...”
“Fighting until the very end, are we, professor?” She shook her head pityingly, as those deep green eyes of hers flashed red again, forcing him to lift an arm up to place a hand atop of her head. “Let's try and quell that fear with pleasure, shall we?”
Her tongue snaked out to flick across the head of his cock, and he couldn't help but notice how the end of it was forked into two prongs, something that made his toes curl in fear, but the slash of her tongue across his shaft sent intense barrages of pleasure through his nerves, and the rounded tip of his circumcised cock surrendered a drop of precum for her tongue to swipe away.
“Oh, professor,” she moaned. “You are delicious. So very fresh and vibrant, so very much unexpected from a man of your age. You practically taste of a younger man, new and innocent. It's intoxicating. I'm going to savor every drop of your essence.”
Her lips wrapped around the head of his cock while her tongue dragged in a circle along the ridge of it, a throb shooting through his shaft, providing another droplet for her enjoyment. He wanted to be scared, to evoke fear in the hopes that it might spurn an adrenaline reaction, but instead he found only euphoria and delight, as her lips pushed down on his shaft, sliding far down to the very base, holding there as she hummed on it before drawing her lips back, pulling her mouth off his cock with a wet pop, gasping in a lungful of air.
“I simply can't help myself, professor,” she giggled up at him. “I wanted to feast slowly upon your essence, to savor every drop of it, but you are making my head spin, and I just can't bear to wait any longer. I must devour. I must gorge.”
Her head pushed back down onto his cock once more, and while he was worried that those fangs would cut into his dick, but he couldn't feel them ripping into his flesh. In fact, he couldn't really feel anything more than the best blowjob he'd ever received in his life.
Siobhan's mouth was shoving down until her nose was pressed against his belly and her lips were wrapped around the base of his shaft, holding there for long moments before pulling back, refusing to slide her mouth off his cock, gasping for air around the head of it, the sudden intake tickling his skin. Her tongue refused to hold still, as if compelled to slather every inch of his shaft with her saliva. He could see there was a slight purple tinge to her spittle, as he felt like he was incredibly into detail now for reasons he didn't quite understand.
She closed her mouth around the head of his cock and caved her cheeks in, forming a tight seal as she tried to inhale his shaft, and he felt as though he was getting exhausted just from watching her work, as her head thrust down fast and drew back up again, clearly trying to coax a release from him.
Her mouth popped off his shaft as she looked up at him with those fierce green eyes once more. “Oh, you are delicious. Such a primal and unusual essence. I'm definitely going to have to burn this house down before I leave, because I am going to drain everything from you and leave you a desiccated and lifeless husk. That would raise too many suspicions, so I'm afraid it's a Viking funeral for you, professor. But even in your fear, you can't wait to cum, can you?” Her fingertips moved to cradle his balls, her touch the most deadly caress Tom had ever felt. “These are so full, so ready to give up their treasures, to tamp down the hunger in my belly. Why fight it, professor? There's only one outcome here. I will feast upon your soul, and through your death, you will give me life. Surrender, professor! Feed me!”
Once again, that copper mane thrust itself down into his lap, pushing hard and deep on his cock, only to slide back and then descend immediately once more. Whatever soft and seductive traits had been there before, now there was only desperation and need, as he felt her fingers tighten on his nutsack, squeezing with just enough force to be uncomfortable.
Some part of him knew that if he succumbed to the siren's call of pleasure, that if he were to just stop resisting and let the impending orgasm rush over him, he would cease to be, but deep down, he knew that resisting was futile, and that in the end, Siobhan was simply too accomplished a cocksucker for him to be able to put up a struggle for much longer.
He had lived a good life over the nearly fifty years. He'd come to the U.S. nearly a decade ago, and found it to be generally a fine and welcoming home, so perhaps his time had come, perhaps he should simply embrace this moment and surrender to this final blast of passion, to end his existence on a high note.
Yes, he decided, it was time to surrender.
Siobhan continued her assault on his cock with raging fury, her mouth attempting to devour his dick again and again, her tongue merciless, offering no opportunity for resistance, and in the end, the struggle was lost.
His hand closed against the back of her head, as he accepted his fate, leaning his head back as the euphoria washed over him like a tidal wave. His balls drew up and he could hear a squeal of delight from around his cock, as his body began to pump load after salty load of jism down her throat, and he felt his very essence drift away, the creature using his cock as a straw.
And with that, Professor Tom Osman died.
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…
The hand atop Siobhan's head went completely limp as she pulled her lips back and off his cock, the shaft still hard, likely with rigor mortis setting in, she thought to herself. She hadn't looked up at the body when the fingers atop her skull suddenly clenched tightly and shoved her face back down onto the cock with ruthless frenzy, forcing her mouth to barrel down to the base of his shaft once more, but this time, she struggled, trying to pull back up again, only to find that she wasn't strong enough to push the arm away, which forced her to panic.
She reached up with both hands, expecting to feel a drained arm that was going through some reflex action after death, but instead found the arm strong and willful. It held her mouth in place before giving her just enough leeway to draw her head back up, a fearful gasp of air around his cock before the hand slammed her back down again until her nose was pressed against his skin.
“Am I being skullfucked by a corpse?” she thought in terror.
After five or six long thrusts, she was finally allowed to slip loose of the hand's grasp, pulling her head off his cock, tears streaming down her cheeks as she turned those green eyes to look up at the body, only to find the professor wasn't the sunken hollow corpse she expected him to be.
Worse still, the bastard was grinning at her.
“Stop!” she said, her eyes flashing red for only a moment, before they sparked, flickering with red glimmers before fading back to their emerald green. Her ability to control the man, to put him under her thrall, for whatever reason, it was failing her, and that scared her more than anything else had in the 856 years she'd been alive. “Why... what are you?”
“You were warned that you would come to regret this,” he said to her, his voice still the same sound it was before, but the tone completely different, almost alien from what it was once. Where once the man's voice had been soft and timid, now it was hard and definitive. Something had certainly changed inside of the professor, and definitely not in the way she had planned.
He reached a hand down and brought it along the underside of her chin, forcing her to lift her face up, not allowing her to look away, as her mind reeled, trying to think of whatever other magics she knew that she could use to escape.
“Ah, a leanan sidhe. I see,” the man said, looking her over. “You should've been so much more careful about what you attempted to eat, little fae.” He sounded almost amused by her inability to wriggle free from him. “I would've thought one of your age would have learned to do her homework instead of trying to eat all willy nilly.”
Siobhan decided to try again, and thrust her controlling spell hard in his direction, attempting to subvert the man's will to her own, her eyes flashing bright red for one brief moment before the color blinked and faded, and she felt her own resistance give way, as if her own magic was turning upon herself, seceding control to the very man she was attempting to dominate.
“So what did that get you?” he laughed, shaking his head with a sigh. “All you've done now is reinforce the spell even further. Isis' tit, you're probably bound to me for life now, you foolish little succubus. Didn't you learn anything from your first attempt to control me?” He moved to his feet, stretching his arms like he'd been slumbering a long time, before looking down at his swollen pot belly in annoyance. “The professor certainly did love to eat, didn't he? That'll take some work to strip away, but I suppose for everything there is a price.”
“You aren't Tom Osman, are you?” she said, her voice a quiet and hushed tone, as if she was worried that raising it might offend him.
“Oh no, no, I am, or rather, I was,” he said, pulling one arm behind his head, continuing to force his muscles to relax, as if the man was reacclimating to his own body once more. “Actually, to be extremely specific, you ate Tom Osman, the veil I wore to conceal myself while my energies restored themselves after a great battle.”
He moved over to the desk, glancing down at the calendar atop it, considering the date for a moment. Time had passed, though not enough of it.
“October 31st, 1992,” he read aloud. “Eight years isn't such a long time, I suppose, although I was intending for it to be a full decade in rebuilding before your damnable interference. When I survived my duel, I was heavily wounded, and in my diminished state, I would've been easy prey for any of my enemies to come in and finish me off. So I co-opted a veil, an identity that I wore like armor, or, perhaps more accurately, a cocoon, enveloping me and carrying on day to day while my energies replenished and my eternal spirit rebuilt its defenses.”
“You are a mage, Master?” she said, finding the word rushing from her lips unprompted, and yet, still somehow feeling right and natural when she said it.
“Naturally, little fae,” he said. Where as the professor had shuffled around, almost like he was trying to stay in the shadows where ever he moved, this man's very presence commanded the spotlight, and he strode confidently back over from the desk to her form. His faded green eyes, the color of polished jade, had once seemed soft and pliant, but now seemed resolute and unquestionable. “I'm sure you told little Tom your name, but his memories died along with him. So let's see how strong of an enchantment you tried to place upon me. Tell me your name, girl. Your true name.”
She knew that she shouldn't, that to tell him her true name would be to submit forever to his will, unable to reclaim her autonomy barring his demise, and yet, she couldn't find it in her to deny his request, and the words leaped eagerly to her lips. “My true name is Siobhan O Cleirigh, Master. If you are not Professor Tom Osman, then who are you, Master?”
“I would've thought it was obvious by now, Siobhan, but perhaps you've stayed hidden from the mage circles for most of your life,” he said, trailing a fingertip along her cheek. She felt herself leaning into his touch, finding it incredibly pleasing. “My name is Jonas. Jonas Silversmith. That's the name I allow people to call me, naturally, not my true name. If that name means nothing to you, perhaps the title will. I am the Red Joker.”
Siobhan gasped in a combination of shock, fear and awe. If what he was saying was true, she was well and thoroughly fucked. “The Dragon Bourne?”
He pipped with a tiny chuckle. “Half dragon, but yes, that is me. And now you understand why I said you did this to yourself,” he said, gesturing at her with a sweep of his hand. “Because you did. What has happened to you is a result of your own magics, not mine. In throwing everything you had into trying to bind my will to yours, you have instead bound yours to mine. You were discouraged multiple times, given ample opportunity to withdraw and find better prey, and yet, you continued, unswayed, and you did consume the soul of one Professor Tom Osman. The end result is truly your own fault, and I don't feel even the slightest pity for you.” Jonas sounded entertained by her predicament, even as his hand reached down to cup one of those plump tits she'd spent so much time crafting in the mirror.
“The Red Joker... You were reportedly killed, Master,” she said to him, even while she tried to press more of her titflesh into his grasp, as if to inspire him to do more with her. “You and the Ace of Clubs were said to have destroyed each other in a duel. How could I have known that you were he, and you had survived the ordeal?”
“Don't come looking for pity from me, little fae. You would've felt the compulsion spells on the home as soon as you entered it, Siobhan,” he sighed. “Their very presence should've given you pause enough to withdraw and reconsider your target. I thought I'd done everything possible to ensure that the professor would be an ideal safe haven for me to recover from my wounds.”
“He invited me in, Master,” she admitted. “I made myself appealing to him and he chose to invite me within the home, which would have disabled any warding spells on the home for me.”
He rolled two fingers in the air, putting the events together in his head. She was correct in that the act of inviting her into the house would've made the spells ignore her presence. “Yes. Yes yes, I see now. That makes sense. But you should've still at least felt some resistance when you first tried to apply your will over his, and that should've given you pause.”
“I simply thought I had gone too long between meals, Master, and that my strength was waning, so I chose to concentrate harder.”
Jonas clicked his tongue, nodding. “That was the mistake that cost you, Siobhan. And it cost you everything. I couldn't remove the magic from you now even if I tried, because you've done it to yourself. Considering you tried a second time, and with the power of fear running through your veins, you've probably solidified yourself under my thrall for centuries, at the very least.”
“Yes Master,” she sighed before smiling. “Why is it that thought brings me joy rather than sadness?”
“Silly sidhe,” he said. “You're getting a taste of what you've inflicted on your victims for your entire life. Much as they gained pleasure from submitting to your will, you now derive pleasure from submitting to mine. It's your own magic doubled back upon you. The more I command you, the more ecstasy you feel.” He sighed, although his voice contained a hint of amusement, as if all of this was nothing more than minor inconvenience. “I suppose I should give you some lasting commands now, though, before I get distracted. Basic things for both our own protection.”
“Why would I need protection, Master?”
“Siobhan, stop breathing.” His voice was cold, controlling, as he spoke but three words and she felt her chest fall deathly still. She wanted to panic, wanted to ask him to allow her to breathe again, but couldn't. “Siobhan, start breathing again.” Immediately she drew in lungfuls of air, as it dawned on her that she was a complete blank slate at this moment, subject to any whim he might have. “I don't want that kind of power over you, Siobhan, not to that level, anyway, so I need to put some guiderails in place that will keep both of us safe. Because for now I'm sure you don't have my best interests at heart. That's easily enough corrected, however. And besides, you like the idea of me giving you commands, don't you?”
“Oh yes Master,” she purred at him, the fear forgotten as quickly as it had arrived. “Thank you, Master. Command me, Master.”
“You will never attempt to harm me, Siobhan. You will never through inaction allow me to come to harm. You will always obey my orders unless it would cause me harm. You will not allow yourself to be harmed, unless it would harm me or allow me to come to harm. You will serve me faithfully, loyally and with only the best and truest intentions.”
He'd once had a semi-drunken discussion with a science fiction writer in a bar about the things a person would need to do to set limits if they had total control over another, and Jonas had gone through some of these basic rules that he had developed long ago for the man's entertainment. Apparently they'd appeared in a simplified form within some ridiculous story about robots that the man from the bar had written not long after, which amused him. But Jonas had more baselines to set within the leanan sidhe, so he continued.
“You will find joy in following these rules and in serving me. When you bring me joy, you will always feel that joy reciprocated inside of you in equal amounts, so the more joy you bring to me, the greater you will feel it in return. You will feed only where, when and upon whom I tell you, but I will keep you well fed, and if you feel that your hunger is starting to affect your ability to think clearly, you will voice those concerns to me as soon as they occur to you. You will never be away from me for longer than a day, and you will never attempt to remove any of these compulsions. Any others you think I should compel you to, Siobhan?”
“Forbid me from lying to you, Master,” she said, rushing the words from her mouth as quickly as she could form them. “I've survived this long by manipulating and twisting perceptions into realities very much in my favor, so you need to stop me from doing so to you immediately. Even in this moment, the only reason I am telling you all of this is that you've compelled me to.”
He nodded, drawing two fingers across his lips, gesturing for Siobhan to fall silent once more. “You will never lie to me, Siobhan, and you will always tell me anything that would benefit me as soon as possible. Your life is now dedicated to my overall well-being and satisfaction, and you will spend much of your waking free time trying to improve my life for me, knowing that by bringing me joy, you will feel that joy reflected upon you tenfold. You will keep no secrets from me, Siobhan, for there is only delight when you reveal things to me. You will bear no shame about who you are, or what you want, and can revel openly in what rests inside your heart. Any inconsistencies about who you were before and who you are now will resolve themselves inside of you now and without conflict, as you will accept this new you as who you have always been. You are aware of who you once were, but you feel only apprehension about the idea of ever returning to being her, instead choosing to embrace who you are now with excitement and glee.”
The faerie girl nodded, taking each sentence he said to her and internalizing it, letting the words brandish her soul into something better, something sharper, something she could take pride in, instead of her old life, where she saw only paranoia and desperate fear as she hunted with disregard for the debris she left in her wake, scampering from the safety of one shadow to another.
“You're my possession now, Siobhan, but you are also my ward. You are my slave now, but also my assistant. You have purpose now, where once there was none. You are bound to me, and in that, you have found a new freedom.” The last word dropped from his lips and she felt a warm glow ripple through her body from the center outward, as if she was ingesting these truths and incorporating them into her very way of being. “You may get off your knees now, Siobhan, and are free to move about.”
With mobility restored, she rose up off her knees and grabbed his head with both hands, pressing her lips adoringly to his, kissing him with a level of passion even Jonas was unaccustomed to, a fiery intensity coated with gratitude, lust and adoration, as she tried to stuff her tongue so much into his mouth that the Dragon Bourne thought she was trying to get him to ingest her, the feeling of her forked tongue against his a little unusual but not unpleasant.
After a long moment, she broke from the kiss, but kept her face very close to his, their noses still touching, as she whispered to him. “Thank you, Master. You could've simply killed me, and you chose not to. You could've just snuffed me out, discarded my corpse like trash, and instead you found me worthy of redemption, and for that, I will spend all eternity convincing you this decision was the correct one, the best one. I will love you like no other, serve you like no other, and will always remember that my happiness springs from yours.”
He smirked a little bit, wondering idly for a moment if he'd been too good in setting those rules in place, but deciding eventually that it was for the best. “Now then, I can't go around calling you by your true name everywhere, Siobhan, so you will need to adopt a new nomenclature, something you will be known by when we aren't alone. What would you like?”
“My eyes have been described by poets as 'kelly green' more than once, Master, so perhaps Kelly? If it pleases you, it pleases me, but I think it could be a fine name.”
“So let it be written, so let it be done,” he said, repeating an old movie line. Her body had not moved from his, her arms wrapped around his form, so he spoke again. “You want something more, don't you, Kelly?”
“I was just thinking, Master,” she purred. “I was such a wicked little minx, crafting this body for your eyes and not letting you have a chance to truly play with it. I should be punished for that, and you should get to enjoy the fruits of my labors. I mean, simply look at these tits, Master,” she said, pulling back just enough so that he could look down at them to get a fine view of the sculpted flesh. “Supple and firm, not too large as to overwhelm but large enough that they will bounce and jiggle when my body is jostled. Should I not be chastised for denying you that joy, Master?”
“Do you like pain and punishment, Kelly?” He was repeating the new name so that it would come naturally to him from now on, forcing it to settle in his brain. “Does it bring you joy?”
“You know I cannot lie to you, Master,” she said as she reached down and pushed the catsuit down from her waist along her thighs. “Pain and pleasure are intertwined in my brain.” She slide the leather down past her calves, all the way to her feet, stepping out of it and casting it aside, leaving her only wearing a large pair of black satin panties. “I want you to punish me, and I want you to use me for your own enjoyment.”
“Speak plainly, Kelly, otherwise I might mistake your meaning.”
“Spank me, Master. Slap me. Grab my hair in your fist and yank it about. Clench your strong fingers around my throat and deny me air, make me realize how much everything about me belongs to you now. And once it's clear how much dominion you hold over me, I want you to fuck me, Master, to enjoy how sweet and tight and snug this teenage cunt I have crafted for you is.” She twitched a moment, then smiled again. “No, that I crafted some three or four prey ago, not for you, but that you will be the first to enjoy. Even in such a trivial thing I cannot lie to you. I crafted these fine breasts,” she said, cradling them in her hands, squeezing them in her slender fingers, “only this morning, tailor made for the professor, to lure him into inviting me into his home, but my pussy was crafted for a prey months ago, in case I had to go further in order to gain his trust to lure him somewhere I could drain him into a husk. But he never got to enjoy it. In fact, since I fashioned it seasons ago, it has gone unused, unspoiled, ripe and waiting for proper use, for a good hard fucking.”
He pulled over a long benchlike footstool and then spun her around, pushing her knees down onto the footstool, then forcing her onto all fours before him, her toned ass pointed his direction, as he yanked those panties down to her knees. He lifted his hand and with a loud crack brought it down to slap against her ass hard enough to make her entire body jiggle, as a carnal moan burbled from her lips.
“Fuck yes, Master! Punish your wicked little whore for teasing you! I deserve it! I deserve your wrath!” she shouted at him, glee rampant in her voice.
His hand lifted again and spanked against her buttcheek once more, the sound of flesh on flesh echoing through the autumn air. Her pale flesh reddened in response, and he could see her gash start to grow slick and damp, greasing her flesh in anticipation.
“It's not much of a punishment if you enjoy it, is it, Kelly?” he said in amusement, and just as she was about to respond, his other hand reached down and clenched around her neck, holding his grasp firm on her, cutting off her air for long enough to make his point. His fingers eventually relax their lock upon her neck and she gasped to breathe, shaking her head in disagreement.
“It's a reminder, Master,” she wheezed. “That you are good to me, and that I should be thankful for luck I have not earned and do not deserve.” She reached back with one hand between her legs, two fingers spreading the lips of her vulva for him to see. “Please, Master. Enjoy that which is yours, which is so very tight, perhaps even too tight. Let me give this gift to you, Master. Savor your slut's impossibly snug snatch and stretch it open. I won't feel claimed until you allow me to feel you inside my guts, Master, until you grant me the privilege of your seed warming my innards. Plow my pussy and indoctrinate me.”
Even now, she was still leaning into her instincts, deploying her skills to get the outcome she wanted, that they both wanted. He stepped in behind her, lining the head of his cock up against the nineteen year old's pussy the centuries old faerie had crafted and thrust forward inside it.
He'd wanted to slide into her with just one thrust, but she was far too tight for that, clenched and vicelike. It felt like every inch forward was a struggle, prying her open from the inside, forcing that body to adapt and accommodate his cock, a high pitched whine shrilling from her lips as he did, until finally, he felt his hips slap against her ass, just as he was bottoming out inside of her, the back of her pussy strained against the tip of his dick.
“Fuuuuuuuuck Master,” she groaned from the bottom of her register, the words sounding stilted and strained. “Thank you for this gift, your cock nearly in my fucking belly. Now fuck the living shit out of me. Use your whore until your cum is dripping out her ears with her fucking brains. Let her please you and drain your cum, to bring you joy, not weakness, life, not death. Teach your slut what it means to truly fuck, Master, to fuck for passion instead of hunger. Fuck me like a bitch until I learn to be better!”
His hand reached forward, sliding his fingers along the back of her neck up along her skull, weaving them through the strands of her hair until he bunched them together in a fistful of her short copper locks, right against the skin, yanking back on it to make her spine curve forcefully, as he drew his hips back, sliding part of his cock out only to ram forward again with a savage intensity.
“Fuck!” she shouted, and repeated the word with each swiveling strike of his hips, plowing his cock into her like he was attempting to tunnel through her cunt. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!”
The level of the footstool gave him ideal leverage, able to thrust into her with no concern about angle or exhaustion, a heady mix of doggy style and a standing fuck, his whole weight barreling into her nubile body again and again, each thrust indeed making those tits that hung beneath her jiggle and clap together at the force of it.
If anything, she was sad he couldn't see her face, the genuine look of pleasure and ecstasy that her face hadn't naturally worn in centuries. Her hands were braced against the footstool, but the raw carnality with which he was railing her meant that her shoulders dropped down a little, and when his hand slipped from her hair, her face plummeted to the cushion, her shoulders bearing down onto it, unable to do anything more than simply take his pummeling assault.
Like all sexual supernatural predators, the very nature of any sexual experience provided sustenance, but normally Siobhan had found the experience to be purely transactional. Now, she was as caught up in the moment as he was, and while their climaxes would not drain his lifeforce any, it would fuel her nonetheless, and in realizing that, she resolved to make it as wonderful and intense for her new Master as she could. She could feed without feeding, and that discovery was glorious.
“Your little slut is going to cum, Master, but she wants your cum first. She wants to know she's been a good little whore for you, that she's brought you great joy, that you loved fucking her as much as she's loved being fucked by you, that you own a good and proper fuckhole that brings you joy. Let me bring you joy, Master. Let me feel you cum! Cum inside my wicked faerie snatch! I beg of you, Master! Please, let us cum together! Cum! Please! Cum! Cum!”
The faerie had honed her craft well, and his orgasm rushed from him much sooner than he would have expected. As soon as the sensations began to boil within his balls, surging to his cock, he felt her clamp down even tighter around his dick, so snug he was worried she might crush him. Eventually his cock began to spew hot cream inside of her pussy, and the slickness gave him slight purchase to move again, even as her body whimpered and cried in stuttering fits, squealing in the delight of her own orgasm, something it sounded like she'd not reveled in for a very long time, as it seemed in danger of consuming her.
His orgasm came and went, but it seemed as though hers lasted for a few minutes, her body trembling in the throes of it long after his load had been spent and his cock had started to soften, her enveloping cunt refusing to let his body slip from hers.
Eventually, however, her tremors came to cease, and they remained in silence for a moment, until finally she started to giggle, and once the giggle started, it blossomed into full bore laughter, the girl beneath him sliding off her knees to straddle the footstool, burying her face into the crook of her arm as she continued to be overwhelmed with mirth.
“Are you okay, Kelly?” he finally said, once her laughter had died down into a relentless giggle.
She rolled onto her back, flipping her legs over as she looked up at him in adoration. “For just the briefest of moments, Master, I thought my own magics were going to kill me. My prey have certainly enjoyed a great gift before they died, because I have never experienced even a quarter of that level of pleasure in my long life.” She writhed a little as he stood by the footstool, contorting so that she could tug her panties down and off, leaving her body fully exposed to his eyes, a triangle of copper curls above her pussy that still fluttered, trying to keep all his cum inside of her, even if a tiny amount dripped out. “Where once I was blind, now I can see, Master. Truly see. I will spend all my days trying to repay the kindness you showed in sparing my life, Master. But if it's all the same, if you fuck me again any time soon, I think I'm going to fucking pass out on you,” she said, before devolving back into a giggling fit. “I've never experienced that kind of pleasure in my life. I didn't think it was even possible. I think I'm gonna be addicted to it.”
Jonas smirked a little bit, reaching down to caress her cheek with one hand. “Promises, promises.”
The phone on the wall began to ring, startling both Jonas and Kelly, which made them both laugh as they realized what it was. He tugged up his pants, strode across the room to the wall phone and picked it up from its cradle, holding it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Hello, Professor Osman? This is Sgt. Baker, Fort Collins PD. I was just calling to make sure you were alright. One of your neighbors thought they heard some sort of calamity over from your house, and so we're just checking in to make sure you're okay.”
“Yes yes, Sergeant, I'm fine. A little drunk, perhaps, but fine. I just had the television on too loud, but I assure you, I'll be alright.”
“Alright now, you have a good evening then, and happy Halloween.”
“Happy Halloween to you as well, Sergeant,” he said before hanging the phone back up on its cradle. “Well, he'll be replaying that phone call in his head tomorrow morning. As soon as you think you can stand again, Kelly, you should get dressed. We won't be staying.”
“Why not, Master?” she said, stretching a little on her back atop the footstool. She was fairly certain if she stood up now, her legs would give way beneath her like a newborn faun, so she decided to give it a few more minutes. “Why not continue being Professor Tom Osman?”
“Because you ate him, you silly girl,” he chuckled. “He wasn't like a suit I put on. He was a cocoon I was wrapped within. He was an actual person. I don't have any of his memories, I don't know everything he did during the time I was enshrouded within him. In fact,” he said, looking around the house with a critical eye for the first time, “I'm fairly certain this isn't even where I left the silly bastard. Where are we?”
“Fort Collins, Colorado, Master. Professor Osman has been teaching at Colorado State University since the beginning of the summer.” She moved to her feet, finding her legs still unsteady, but able to hold purchase enough, as she pulled the catsuit back on once more, zipping it up. She hadn't bothered with the panties.
“Colorado?” he said, incredulous. “I left the moron in San Francisco, teaching at San Francisco State! And he's only gone and moved half way across the damned country!” He shook his head, moving over to the desk again. “Anyway, the first day I tried to teach, the students would all know immediately that I'm not him. I don't act like him, I don't think like him, and I don't have any of his memories. I wouldn't know their names, I wouldn't know where in the syllabus we were... the entire thing would collapse like a poorly cooked popover. No, we shan't be staying here, Kelly. The risks are far too great. Besides, apparently my absence has let the supernatural creatures of this world grow complacent, and that will not be allowed to stand.”
“Won't the professor's absence be noted?”
“Not at all, Kelly. We'll leave a body behind. The actual Tom Osman's body, to be precise. Ah! Here it is,” he said, grabbing a small agate egg from the desk.
“That's a body?”
“It is!” He moved over to the couch, held the egg over it, then cracked the stone in his hand, as a silvery vapor began to dribble out, coalescing into the shape of a body on the couch before the swirls tightened together, and only the body of Tom Osman remained, some eight years younger than the one that Jonas wore.
“When he was a younger man, barely more than a boy, he killed his brother, and sought my help to find his way in the world again. I offered him redemption, of sorts, at a steep price, and warned him the price was much higher than he wanted to pay, but he insisted. So I concealed all evidence of his crime and took his promissory note. And he went about his meager little life, until one day, decades later, I came calling. He begged and pleaded for me not to collect, but the deal had been struck, and I reminded him how much more life he'd had than he would've had I not covered up his murder,” Jonas said. “I told him that he would continue living until my healing was done, but that he needed to move from London to the United States, and once that was done, I made him forget all about me and the deal, as I moved his soul to form a shell for me to recover in. His original body was kept hidden in this paperweight he could never bear to throw out. And now his service to me is done, albeit a little sooner than anticipated, as you consumed his soul. Merely the original husk remains. How did you plan on covering up your meal, Siobhan?”
“I... I was going to burn the house down, Master. There are so many books and magazines strewn about the place, it would make excellent kindling, and the body would be mostly consumed by the flames.”
“Good idea, but not enough. Easily rectified, though.” He moved over to the liquor cabinet and found the bottle of Everclear he expected to find. “Grain alcohol, suitable only for mixing with other things, never for drinking straight.” He unscrewed the cap and poured a little into the corpse's mouth, before dousing the body with the rest of the contents of the bottle. “Now they'll assume he fell asleep drinking and that his body was burned up in the blaze. Such a story might not hold up under great scrutiny, but as you told me, the professor was new to this town, so a lifelong drinking problem will ascribe motive and let the entire matter go down as an accident without any real investigation.”
He brought his fingers across his face, and the structure of it shifted and adjusted, his features returning to their pure Egyptian form, a handful of the years stripped away, as Jonas returned to his natural face, a man in his early forties, less soft and innocent than the professor's face had been. Losing the excess weight from his body would take some time, and adjusting it by magic was an unnecessary waste of resources, Jonas thought to himself. His fingers continued to drag down over his body, as the costume he'd been wearing was replaced by a black and red Chinese style shirt, and loose fitting slacks the color of blood, something more in line with how he usually dressed.
“You look much more handsome this way, Master,” Kelly said to him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “It suits you much more naturally.”
“Mmm,” he hummed in agreement. “Now let us take our leave of this place. I've much to learn about what's transpired in my absence.”
The two stepped out onto the porch, the front door open, as Jonas Silversmith, the Red Joker, looked back into the house at the body. He brought his left hand up into the air, clenching it in a fist, as a cyclone of fire began swirl around the inside of the house, lighting all the paper ablaze and instantly engulfing the body. He then closed the door and turned to walk, as he felt Kelly's arm sliding around his waist, pressing one of those tits firmly against his side.
“Where to now, Master?” she asked him.
“Oh, just a jump to the left and then a step to the right...”
As the house devolved into cinder and ash behind them, they disappeared back into the night, where they'd always been, and always would be.
Comments
Melancholy medic
Peak dirty talk. Good story
Corrupting Power
Huh. It was in the PDF, but apparently the post itself got it cut off somewhere along the way. Fixed now.
Arnim Sommer
Uh - seems the story lacks the last half-sentence…
Ian B
Knew a twist but was a twist on the twist. Very well done. Also seems like something that would happen in Fort Collins. Had a coworker who had a very funny story about being jumped by a juggalo in Fort Collins and how the makeup ruined his shirt.
Shan Wilson
Really enjoyed this and would love to see the story continue!
qxvw198
A very nice story with an unexpected twist.
