The Binding of Orla

This is a snippet from my upcoming book, in which Sabine, the notoriously Bad Witch, decides to take the assassin who tried to claim her life, and possess her always.

Orla looks at Sabine, fierce independence flashing through her veins, lighting her eyes with determination. “I will not be bound, witch. I will fight a hundred hordes before I allow myself to become one of your pets.”

“You fear not me, but connection to me,” Sabine says calmly. “But we have always been connected, and always will be. Fate has determined that.”

“Then you do not need to make me yours,” Orla says, neatly circling around the witch’s logic. “I will be mine and you will be yours and we will be ours and that will have to be enough.”

“You will be mine,” Sabine declares. “I have not offered you a choice in that.”

“Nonsense,” Orla replies. “You cannot claim me. You…”

Her words are cut off as Sabine uses her powerful magic to make the world tumble, or perhaps it is just Orla that tumbles, for she finds herself face down against the coverlet, her hips raised over a serpent’s ridge which has risen from the ether, a glittering familiar taking momentary wooden form. She is unable to move, shackled by Sabine’s sprites which wind themselves around her ankles and wrists, leaving her entirely at the witch’s mercy, her naked body bared, spread and held for Sabine’s pleasure.

Sabine materializes a short switch, a whippy branch which she lays across Orla’s buttocks with quick snapping strokes of her wrist. It is a stinging, unpleasant punishment and Orla does not care for it in the slightest. It is not the physical discomfort that annoys her so much as it is how helpless she is made and how she is being punished as any recalcitrant servant might be. The witch does not see her as any kind of an equal. To Sabine, she is nothing but a plaything to be claimed and used and punished if she sees fit.

“You do not understand the forces you trifle with,” Sabine says. “You do not understand that there are places and creatures worse than death. You do not understand that there are many ways to be taken apart, and now that I have lain with you and put my seal upon you, there will be those who seek to destroy you, just as you came to destroy me.”

“I don’t care,” Orla grits out. “Let me up, woman. This is not a beating worthy of me.”

“This is a beating worthy of a whelp,” Sabine replies, lashing the switch against the underside of Orla’s cheeks. A few stray swats catch the lips of her pussy, still swollen from the previous evening’s activities. In a few short minutes, Orla’s round, full cheeks are covered in wispy raised red lines, and between her thighs, her lips are once more leaking the juices of her need.

Sabine reaches down and takes Orla’s clit between her fingertips

“Your flesh will not allow you to resist very long,” she says, leaning over Orla’s arched figure. “Your body is too sensitive to a lover’s touch. You will soon beg to become mine.” She pinches her fingers lightly together, sending bolts of erotic energy shooting through Orla’s lightly chastened form.