A Reluctant Witch in The Land of

BDSM:

Shame and Delight at His Hands

By Aimélie Aames

Copyright 2012 Aimélie Aames

Cover Artwork Copyright 2012 Aimélie

Aames

aimelieaames.wordpress.com

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Disclaimer

The characters and events portrayed in this book

are a work of fiction or are used fictitiously. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is
coincidental and not intended by the author.

Mature Content

This work of fiction contains sexually explicit

material and is intended only for persons over the
age of 18. By downloading and opening this
document, you are stating that you are of legal age
to access and view this work of fiction. All of the
characters involved in the sexual situations in this

story are intended to be 18 years of age or older,
whether they are explicitly described as such or not.

Anna Ixstassou: Shame and Delight at

His Hands

He pulls the cord that runs from my wrists up

through a pulley above my head. My arms rise
higher and I feel the low ache in my shoulders flame
up in protest. I'm on the tips of my toes now, my
calves are starting to burn and I can't help it if every
time he makes an adjustment I only get wetter.

I should've known better, being who I am. Or,

maybe, that's the reason why I didn't see this
coming. Too close, too blind to remark what should
have been obvious from the start.

The pulley creaks with my weight and a quiet

whimper escapes through my lips. I bite down any

other sound that might try to get by my guard. The
master is exigent and will only make me pay if I don't
follow his rules to the letter.

He doesn't notice, though, as he ties off the thin

rope at a little T post thing. It reminds me of
something I once saw on a sailboat, only smaller,
and that seems just about right for this guy. A
sailboat type...no, a yacht type of guy. He has it
written all over him, with his broad chest and heavy
arms. I've never seen anyone with shoulders so
square. It's as if he was press formed in a mold
destined to turn out lovely men. Which is what he is.
Lovely, gorgeous, take your pick of whatever man
candy euphemism strikes your fancy. He's all that
and then some.

He bends down now and slides his hand down

across my bare belly. It's flat and tight. I bust my ass
at the gym and skip the pasta. The price to pay for
abs that make men want to touch me, to lick me up
and down like a lollipop.

He keeps going down with his hand and slips it

in between my thighs, pausing just for a moment at
my aching, wet epicenter. He knows I'm turned on,
but refuses me and my needs, sliding his hand down

my legs instead. At my ankles are a pair of leather
straps that he buckles around each, cinching them in
tight before finally descending to the tiny platform
where I'm standing. I didn't notice before but it's
actually two platforms that he unlatches and pushes
apart. They follow the track of the half circle rail
mounted to the wall behind me. The effect is that
suddenly my legs are spread wide open and there's
nothing I can do about it.

Do I care that much? It's hard to say. On one

hand, what I went through yesterday with him at the
controls was awful. He made me feel like absolute
shit. On the other hand, I came back today, didn't I?
Yeah, I did.

I think it's because he's just that beautiful. And, I

use that word, beautiful, for a reason, because it isn't
often that it applies well to men. Men are handsome,
or rugged, or built. But this guy...he has it all. He
owns the company I work for, he's built like the wet
dream of a Greek goddess, and, right now, at this
very moment, I'm what he's thinking about. I'm at the
center of his every intention and filling his lovely
green eyes with lust. And all of that's just fine except
for one thing.

He's the devil.
There he is before me, perfect in so many

ways...but the devil, just the same. You don't think
you're ever going to meet the devil, right? That it
takes a dark circle of naked worshippers off on
some hill in the woods. It has to be at night, the
moon up high and full, and the wind whispering of
foul portents. There should be some blood letting
first, then everyone whips themselves into a frenzied
orgy that is meant to call up the dark one.

Only the devil takes so many forms. I know this.

I

am

my mother's daughter, after all. But the only

thing I had to do was to ask for a meeting with the
boss. Mistake? You tell me once I get done with this
story....

"Honey, you've just got to keep at it," Pauline

said over her coffee.

We were in the break room and she was doing

her best to cheer me up. We were alone, except for
Margery Ackerman over in her corner. Marge from
Upstairs is what most people called her. Smartly

Upstairs is what most people called her. Smartly
dressed and impeccably coiffed for her age, she
was silver haired elegance on two legs. On the other
hand, she never deigned to speak to any of us lowly
personnel from downstairs. She ignored us as
usual, flipping pages on a clipboard while sipping
her own coffee.

"Keep at it? Cripes, Polly, I've been spinning my

wheels for two years, ten, twelve hours a day,
weekends. It's not as if I didn't deserve it." I was
close to tears, but didn't want to admit it.

Pauline replied, "You'll get your chance, Anna. It

just takes time and then, one of these days,

someone

upstairs will notice how hard you work.

You'll get a promotion...just not this time." She had
said "someone" pretty loudly while staring right at
Margery Ackerman who kept her nose in her papers,
appearing not to notice.

"Well, look," said Pauline, "I've got to run. Try not

to let it get you down so much, hon."

The formal refusal for my promotion was there on

the table, crumpled into a ball. I just nodded at
Pauline, afraid to say anything and have my voice
crack.

No tears

, I thought,

not here

.

She walked out, her hips swinging. Sometimes I

had thoughts about Pauline, but for the moment, my
normally insatiable curiosity was the last thing on my
mind.

My upper lip trembling, I was about to sip from

my own coffee when from very close behind me, a
voice said, "You disappoint me."

I hissed as the hot drink spilled onto my hand.

Marge from Upstairs had just startled the hell out of
me.

"I beg your pardon?" I said over my shoulder to

her while wiping up coffee with a tissue.

"Merit has nothing to do with it. And, if that's

what you really think, then your naivété is, frankly,
keeping you right where you belong. Buried down
here with the rest of them."

Margery peered down at me over her half-eye

readers, looking for all the world like a wise old owl.
An owl who maybe had something to say after all.

"I'm not naive and that's not what I want," I

replied, wishing I didn't sound so much like an angry
kid.

"Then," she said, in return, "you had better be

hungry...very hungry." Her voice hung on the last

word, almost purring it.

"I am," I replied. "I've got what it takes and will

do whatever is necessary to prove it."

"Good," she said. "Once upon a time, I myself

was in your shoes, only the man at the helm upstairs
was Ewan Crest's father, Carlin.

That

was a man

with particular appetites..."

Just then, I got a flash of Margery...which

happens sometimes. I can flash on anything, almost
at any moment, and it happens often enough that I
know to trust what I see. It was an image so stark it
almost hurt as it popped into my head. Marge from
Upstairs twenty years younger and dressed up in
black rubber and knee high boots, a rider's crop in
her hand. There was blood seeping at the corner of
her mouth, but she was smiling this huge, lascivious
grin, her impeccably straight teeth tinged in pink.

What the hell

..?, I thought.

"...dressed correctly," Margery was saying.
"I'm sorry," I said, "Could you repeat that?"
"I said that the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

With his father gone, Ewan has developed a keen
interest in finding new talent, especially in-house.

"Be ready at any moment and, above all, dress

correctly," she finished before marching out of the
break room, her back so straight I wondered if she
was hiding a corset under that business suit jacket.
Or, maybe some other cruelly fitted unmentionable.

Uh oh

, I said to myself,

this could get intense

.

But that was alright. I was up for anything,

anything at all to prove to myself that I could do this
on my own. To prove to my mother that I did not
need her to intervene, even if that would have made
things so much easier.

I can do this

.

On my way home, there were autumn leaves

swirling in the evening air, at times blanketing the
sidewalks as I crunched my way through them. My
place was back among the brownstones, a nice loft
in a quiet neighborhood. Weather permitting, I
preferred hoofing it home. Good for the figure, as
they say.

The wind lifted and I thought I heard rustling

above me in the treetops where a few stubborn
leaves were still clinging. Then, just before me on

leaves were still clinging. Then, just before me on
the sidewalk, they were swept up in a mini tornado,
like a dust devil only with leaves, before falling down
flat as if someone had just turned off the wind
machine.

They had fallen down in an unmistakable pattern.

A question mark made of leaves, as clear as could
be.

I kicked them apart, storming through them and

coming to the first crack I could find on the sidewalk,
I stamped down hard upon it.

Mother! Stop your

meddling

.

Of course, stepping on a crack was of no use. It

would be no worse than a hang nail for her. It was
the message that counted.

The tree tops rustled again and then I saw

something take flight, winging in silhouette across
the rising moon.

Anyone else would have believed they had seen

a crow, or maybe some kind of deformed pigeon on
steroids. Me...I knew better. I know a flying monkey
when I see one.

The following morning, there were signs and

plenty of them. I had to dump my first cup of coffee.
The milk I'd poured into it had curdled during the
night. Then I found a crack in my cereal bowl and I
didn't remember knocking it around or anything.
Worse still, my little cereal O's wouldn't group up in
the milk no matter how much I scooted them around
with my spoon.

I should have seen it coming. But, like I said, I

don't think I really wanted to admit it. There's a
reason that curiosity killed the cat, after all...

When I got in at work, I saw it there, perched

upon my desk like a white dove. A slip of paper, torn
from a well organized clipboard, I imagined. Upon it,
careful, block letter handwriting that said, "Upstairs.
11 a.m.", and that was all, no signature. I ran my
finger across the pencilled words, closing my eyes.
Knee high boots, bloody grin...Margery Ackerman
was written all over it.

I smiled, even as the butterflies fluttered by in my

stomach. I was going upstairs.

I was there, perched on the edge of a very deep

leather chair with a pert secretary across from me, at
precisely 10:55. If I had not missed my guess, Mr.
Ewan Crest was a stickler for being on time. So am
I, for that matter.

I breathed in deeply and slowly, doing my best to

stay calm even though I knew that what was about to
happen was probably the most important moment of
my entire career. So much was riding on this, one
little misstep could be a deal breaker. I took a deep
breath, knowing the effect it had as my white, dress
shirt drew tight across my breasts. My bra was of a
very sheer silk and nylon blend, no padding. I
wanted it to be perfectly clear to whoever might
notice if I happened to have a shiver of excitement.
With full 36C's, I leave little to the imagination with
the least chill.

I had once toyed with the idea of implants, but

the thought of losing sensitivity, even if the possibility
was remote, just left me cold. I love breast play.

Take that away and I'd be one unhappy woman.

The secretary's phone rang. She picked up

without saying a word, her eyes flicking to me as she
listened. She set it back down and said, "Mr. Crest
will see you now. It's through that door."

She pointed to a dark mahogany door just

beyond her desk and it was all I could do not to leap
up from my chair like a jack in the box.

Deep

breaths, that's the key

, I told myself as I did my best

to calmly walk across the room.

There was a corridor on the other side of the

door which opened on either side to a series of
large, empty meeting rooms. At corridor's end,
another dark door, the other side of which held my
future. I did not hesitate opening it.

An enormous office, lined in plate glass windows

overlooked the city from two angles. To say that it
took my breath away is saying too little.

Well into the room was a desk and at that desk,

there was a nameplate on a little exotic wood
stand...Ewan Crest, CEO and President. It might
have said "ruler of all that lies beneath him" and I
would not have been at all surprised.

His chair was empty so I stood still, wishing I

could sit down and wondering if I should have gone
to pee just one more time before taking the elevator
to the top floor. It's just nerves, I told myself.

And then, it felt as though a pair of hamsters had

suddenly bitten down on both of my thumbs at once,
an electric zing of pain stinging me hard. I nearly
cried out as I looked down, irrationally sure I would
see dripping blood. Only there was nothing to see
and as I looked up, he stepped into the room.

By the pricking of my thumbs

....

And, in he walked, as wicked as they come.
"Anna...Anna Ixstassou," he said, glancing down

at a folder in his hands. He looked up at me and I
was transfixed with the most profoundly green eyes
I'd ever seen. It was like looking into the sea, calm
for the moment, but also a force of nature capable of
lifting up in violence in the very next breath.

"Yes sir," I replied, hoping that my voice didn't

tremble as much as I thought it had.

His gaze did not release me as he said,

"Curious name, that. I looked it up...Basque, right?"

I couldn't say exactly why, but his question didn't

feel like he expected an answer and before I could
take my next breath, he continued, "Well, let's hope
some of that old world charm brings us something
interesting today...something flavored with
originality."

"Yes sir," I stammered out again, feeling foolish

for repeating myself.

He sighed and closed the folder, looking at me.

He was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt that
hugged his upper body like a glove. He had passed
his Ivy League days rowing competitively and it
showed marvelously, chiseled as he was with a
broad chest sweeping up to heavy square shoulders.
I'd looked him up, too, and knew that he'd captained
several sculling teams to victory, except that now it
seemed the victory was all his, owner of the body of
an Adonis. His close cropped hair was sandy brown
with the fine, natural highlights of someone who
spent time outdoors. And his skin, oh his beautiful
skin, was not tan. Tan is too shallow a word for the
deep bronze color that clothed this magnificent man.

He smiled a bright, even smile and I felt myself

turning moist between my legs as his cheeks
tightened in delicious lines of humor. I wanted to lick

him, right then and there.

"Anna, you need to understand that in private, I

don't care for the word, 'sir'. I'm sure you can think of
something more appropriate, given a little time. But
before you open that gorgeous mouth of yours again,
I need you to turn around."

I nearly repeated myself once more before

closing my mouth with an audible click, turning
around quickly to face away from him.

"Ok. That's good," he said from behind me. I

swear that in that moment my ass got hot as his
laser green gaze swept over me from a distance.

I was wearing my man-killer pants. I'd paid way

too much to have the beige linen pants tailored to
perfectly encase my bottom before flaring out again
with trim little pleats that said, sharp-dressed-
business-woman-with-extreme-ass-action. They
were tight in all the right places with just a hint of
camel toe. Naturally, I was wearing a string to avoid
panty lines and was very grateful for all those hours
on the stair master. I have a fine, meaty caboose
and I'm not shy about showing it.

I felt more than heard him approach me, as if he

were fevered and the heat of him buffeted me from

behind. He placed his hands upon my shoulders,
and then I could feel him come very close to press
against me, something firm, long and thick pressing
upon my ass.

"Anna Ixstassou, you have a body that interests

me," he said quietly into my ear. "And, you should
know that when something interests me, I keep at it
until there is nothing left for me to learn."

His hands turned me around to face him.
"I'm going to learn a thing or two about you," he

finished.

He stepped away and walked around to his desk

where a carafe and a glass waited. He poured the
glass full to the brim and said, "Please have some
water, Anna."

I wasn't thirsty but to be polite there didn't seem

any good way to refuse. I stepped over to the desk,
saying, "Thank you," before taking a small sip.

As I was about to set the glass back down, Ewan

frowned and said, "Have some water...now."

His tone had become as glacial as the water

was tepid. I took it back up and drank it down to the
last.

He didn't look at me, but poured the glass full to

He didn't look at me, but poured the glass full to

the brim once more, and then with a wave of his
hand, indicated what he wanted.

I picked it back up, thinking what a strange way

of testing my resolve, and drank it dry once more.

"Thank you, sir," I said and then could have

kicked myself.

He did look at me, then, his eyes narrowing and

his brow furrowed.

"So, what part about saying 'sir' did you not

understand, Anna? Because if you can't come up
with some other way to address me, well, I'm afraid
that our time together will be all too short.

"You're not here to waste my time, are you?" he

finished.

I replied, my voice shaking, "No...master...I do

not wish to waste your time."

His radiant, almost extravagant smile lit his face

as he said, "Perfect! I knew you would be a smart
girl and figure things out for yourself, Anna. I'm so
pleased you didn't disappoint me.

"Now undress for me, my little Basque. I have

something fun in mind for you."

My stomach flip-flopped as his words echoed in

me ears. I'd known it all along...it was why I was
wearing a new string, a little lacy at the edges, but
hot as hell. And damned if I didn't suddenly feel a
rush of warmth between my legs in the same
moment that my cheeks burned bright red.

I moved quickly, afraid to hesitate before the

"master". I knew he would approve of my being
decisive once a choice was made.

I stripped down and made no effort to turn aside,

even as I undid my bra and let it fall simply to the
floor.

Looking up at him with just a hint of shyness, I

said, "Master, could you help me with my
underwear?"

He licked his lips as he took in the sight of my

nipples stiffening under his regard. My breath was
coming in easily, in long, slow respirations that lifted
my chest in just the right way. In a way meant to trap
a man's eyes before they inevitably began working
their way down my flat stomach to the frilly lace
excuse for propriety hiding my muff away.

"Off with that string, Anna. It's in my way," he

said, breaking away from me to go back to his desk.
Disappointed, I slipped it down my hips and then

had to widen my stance a little as it hung up in my
crack. It slipped free, finally, and when it did I felt
how wet I had gotten around it. It left moist tracks on
the inside of my thighs as it fell away.

Ewan was fishing for something in one of his

desk drawers, then grunted with satisfaction. He
walked back to me with his hands full of an odd
assortment of wire leads and something that looked
like a flat battery pack.

"Now just hold still and let me work," he said as

he encircled my waist with his arms. I felt the cold
touch of the plastic slab at my back and then he was
drawing a strap around to clasp at my navel. He
adjusted it so that it wasn't too tight, even if I had
begun to feel like I would need to pee soon.

That done, he clipped in wire leads to the thing

and from those he threaded up along my body using
some pieces of infirmary tape to hold them in place.

The wire terminated in small metal clips with

beads attached. Ewan smiled into my eyes as he
squeezed one of the clips open before clasping it
firmly around one of my very erect nipples. I
shuddered with the feeling of it. Not painful,
really...just a delicious pressure that made me go

weak at the knees.

He wasted no time in fitting me with another at

my other nipple and I sighed, thinking that he had
done what he wanted.

He had not.
He brought two more wires around from my

back, only this time they trailed south of the border.
He taped them carefully into place, his breath
caressing my belly as he worked before he dropped
down to one knee.

He prodded at my pussy and the touch of his

fingers made my hips flex toward him involuntarily.
He chuckled and then pushed my lips apart before I
felt the now familiar sensation of a beaded clip being
fastened around my lips, first one side then the other.

I couldn't help myself as my pelvis swiveled of its

own accord under Ewan's touch.

"And now for the

coup de grace

," he said and

stood up to pick up another object from his desktop.
Something that I thought I recognized.

"You've probably seen one of these before," he

said, extending it for me to see. "But this one isn't
made just to vibrate. It has articulated shiatsu points
that are so much more effective."

that are so much more effective."

He was holding a strap on butterfly vibrator and

when he hit the on button, I could see two little
silicone heads begin gentle rolling motions while the
whole thing buzzed upon his palm.

"Only the best for you, Anna," he said as he

turned it off. It had its own battery pack and that went
around to my back to rest beneath the other one. He
took his time and the sweet warmth as he
manipulated me, adjusting the butterfly so that it was
perfectly placed at my clit, nearly made me pass out.

He clasped the straps for the butterfly around my

thighs and around my waist. Then he said, "Now
let's get you dressed again."

That's strange,

I thought.

But, Ewan gathered up my man killer pants and

white blouse. He handed them over and said, "Be
careful putting those back on. I've got everything just
the way I want it."

He hadn't given me my bra and as I buttoned my

white shirt up and over my clipped breasts, my
nipples stood out like bullets. The cotton fabric slid
delightfully across them as I bent carefully at the
waist to pull up my pants around all the straps and

taped down wires.

It was sexy as hell in the moment, even if the

need to go to the bathroom was growing.

But Ewan was not done with his gadgets.
"Here," he said as he handed over a wireless

cellphone earpiece. "Slip it around your ear, Anna.
It's a bluetooth set."

I wrapped it around the back of my ear and the

center, silicone bud lined up to my ear canal just as it
should. Except that I didn't see the phone that went
with it.

"Ok, now we're getting there. Follow me."
I walked behind him with a wider than usual gait.

The clips at my pussy lips were rubbing together and
the inert butterfly was showing through my too tight
pants.

Across the room there was a large urban

telescope and it was already pointed down at a
sharp angle. He motioned to it.

"Take a peak through there."
I did and saw that it was aimed at the

entranceway of the building in front of our own. It
was a broad and open terrace of cut stone with the
occasional piece of modern art sculpture. The

telescope was focused on one in particular, one that
I recognized easily enough with its haywire,
corkscrew shape.

"You're going to take the elevator downstairs

now and go across to that statue," he said, his tone
becoming very serious. "Once you get there, you
are not to move until I tell you." He tapped the
earpiece in my ear and it made a dull thud.

"Master, please, can I just use the toilet before I

go down?" I got it...Ewan was on to some kind of
voyeurism kink. That was fine, I supposed, except
that the water he'd given me earlier had truly run its
course.

"No."
That single word echoed for a moment as I

thought it over, turning it around and trying to find a
way to make it fit. I was starting to feel desperate.

"Anna, your visit today is one in which you must

show me your mettle. Do you know what that is?"

He didn't wait for me to respond, "It means I

need to see what you're made of. I need to see that
you can handle difficult situations. I need you to push
your wants and needs away and think only of what it
is that

I

want. That is your only concern right now.

"Do that and you're golden. If not...well, you

know the way back downstairs."

I stepped out of Ewan Crest's private elevator,

the one that descends directly to his reserved
parking space in the basement of the building. I had
a trench coat draped over my arm. He had given it
to me just before I left and it seemed odd as the
weather was unseasonably warm and sunny. In any
case, I felt that one of its pockets had some heft...no
doubt it contained the cellphone bluetooth linked to
my headset.

I walked up out the parking garage and daylight

gleamed around me. It was as if I'd stepped from
the depths of the underworld into that of paradise.
Except that I needed to piss in the worst way.

I crossed the busy street and marched quickly up

the terrace steps to the statue that Ewan had
indicated. Apparently, it was time for the building's
smoke break as the terrace had been invaded by
mostly young men, their hair slicked back in the way
of investment bankers, white shirted one after the

of investment bankers, white shirted one after the
other likes clones.

I stood still, watching them mill back and forth,

until one by one, they started turning from one
another to steal glances at me, the only woman
among them.

"Anna. If you can hear me, put the trench over

your other arm." Ewan Crest was in my ear.

I switched arms with the coat, then heard, "Ok,

that's just fine. Now, what you need to do is not
move. You hold still no matter what happens. And,
above all, you will not put that coat on until I say so."

There were more and more clean shaven, twenty

something faces turning in my direction and then I felt
it. A pulse at my nipples that made them crinkle
within their clamps and forced a small moan through
my lips.

It was a sensation just like when you test a nine

volt battery on your tongue. Tingly, zingy and
strangely, salty. My nipples ached as the charge
continued to increase.

It seemed as if my shirt had become smaller and

my breasts reacted, swelling, growing heavier. The
electric caress pulsed from my nipples, radiating

across my chest, feeling as if my skin were drawing
in tighter and tighter. My navel fluttered as the
charge slipped through my skin.

Then, two fingers shifted between my legs and

my hips pumped with the surprise of it. I could see
one of the smokers nudge a colleague with his
elbow and both of them soon forgot all about their
cigarettes.

The skin of my neck tickled and I could feel my

lips plumping, ready to kiss, desiring to suck. I had a
flood of warmth at my pussy, mingling with the dire
need to pee, as the fingers began to nudge at me
again.

It was delicious with the sun bright in my eyes, a

light breeze lifting my hair from my shoulders. I knew
that I was flexing and arching my body as I stood
there and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

A few of the young men began moving toward

me, trying to look casual as they did. I didn't care
and watched them as the sensations rippled through
me. It was as though I was behind glass, looking out
at the world, my mind separating from my body as
the electric ecstasy teased me away from propriety
into wanton desire.

My hips flexed as the butterfly fingers lifted and

turned inside my cleft and with each pass, they
stroked my clit. Each time, what started as a warm
stroke between my legs finished in a sensation that
went too far. One that threatened to make me lose
control, in more ways than one.

There were white shirts edging in closer and

closer to me, their eyes riveted upon me as my
movements became more and more pronounced.
Even at their current distance, I thought I could see
the dark of their eyes growing larger with the desire
to take more of me into their sight.

The electricity at my nipples diminished just as

the rhythm of the fingers in my pussy increased. I
heard a sound, like that of a mountain cat in heat and
I did not recognize it as coming from my own throat.
My heart hammered within me and the stroking lifted
my clit up and out. I would have sworn that it had
swollen into an actual penis, pushing up out of my
lips, pressing against the underside of Ewan's
contraption. I was moving against what wasn't there
and it was made all the more profound as the young
men moved in closer.

I panted with short, staccato breaths. My hips

shifted and rode thin air. I could feel myself lifting up
and then the electric sting came back to pinch my
nipples tight. I could clearly see cocks standing up
and pushing tight against finely tailored woolen
pants, their cigarettes either dangling loosely at their
lips or held in their hands, the ash grown long and
forgotten.

It was lust driving me. It was Ewan Crest pulling

my strings. I was his marionette and not responsible
for what was happening. I moaned with delight and
could see eyes riveted to my crotch that had become
sopping wet with no doubt that my juices were
darkening the beige fabric before their gaze.

I didn't care and if given leave, I would have

shucked down my pants right there, bending over to
be serviced by twenty young studs of the high
financial district.

That was when the butterfly began to vibrate

along with its sliding finger action. I know that there
were sounds that passed through my lips, although I
could not say if they were words or not. My vision
dipped and dimmed as pleasure washed through
me in waves.

My hips were pumping freely now, my restraint

My hips were pumping freely now, my restraint

gone. The breeze had lifted into a wind and the sun
began to darken under gathering clouds. I could feel
myself flexing and moving in what would have been a
Pilates routine from hell, except that I had no say in
the matter. I was merely there as the plaything for
Ewan, exposing myself while fully clothed to a crowd
of turned on young men.

I could hear them muttering among themselves,

but whatever they said made no difference. There
was an all too familiar tightness in my belly, winding
in together like a clock spring that threatened to run
too fast. The pumping of my hips against the
invisible fingers of the buzzing butterfly continued as
my orgasm approached.

I heard, "Yes, Anna...that's it," in my ear and as

my climax pounded into view like a wild horse, there
came the lightning strike of electricity at my pussy
lips and at my nipples in the same instant. This time
there were no half measures as Ewan triggered the
full charge just as a scream rent the air. My own
voice hung there before so many stunned pairs of
eyes as an orgasm thundered through me, my
muscles slapping together in heavy undulation.

I was free in the violence of it, there was nothing

else to hold me back, as the electric whip of Ewan
Crest flogged me into waves of pain and pleasure.
There was release and through blurred eyes, I could
see young men near enough to touch me now,
licking their lips, their cocks, each and every one of
them, bulging to bursting in their pants.

Waves of agony and delight rocked me in the

cradle of orgasm. I floated upon the cusp of shame
and detachment as the air darkened around me.
Slicked back bankers' hair lifted as the wind blew in
gusts. My orgasm carried me onward even though I
knew that I no longer needed to piss. My legs were
drenched down to my feet. My heels sloshed as I
bucked against the electricity that would not release
me.

Thunder boomed and the sky unzipped itself as

the heavy clouds now gathered above us let go,
pissing down, too, upon the world below.

The white shirted, expensively dressed crowd

scattered like pigeons under the heavy rain and I
stood there, my mascara running down my cheeks
even as I shuddered and continued to convulse with
the echoes of a thunderous orgasm that had nearly

swept me away.

"Anna...you can put the trench on now. Come

back up to my office, my little Basque. You've done
well. Very well, indeed." Ewan's voice was husky
and strained.

It didn't matter. Nothing did. I had been

manipulated into climax and piss before a crowd of
desirable young men. If I felt shame then, I didn't
recognize it for what it was. I was emptied, there
upon that terrace with its modern art sculptures. I
was drained.

I walked back across the street as the rain

pounded down, the trench coat pulled around me,
the collar turned up against the buffeting wind.

I hadn't felt my mother looking. She had decided

to give me my privacy, after all. Which meant that
there was someone else responsible for calling up
the thunderstorm on a calm, sunny day.

Like mother, like daughter, as they say...



He was there waiting for me as I stepped out of

the elevator directly into his office. His face was all

concern at the eyes, while his mouth was fixed in a
half smile. A hungry smile.

I didn't miss the fact that his pants bulged as he

took my arm and led me across the room.

"Here," he said, "There's a shower back here

where you can get cleaned up."

His office was divided around a corner and as

we stepped around it, I could see that it was almost
an apartment of its own. There were couches and
deep leather chairs, and just beyond, a marble bath
and toilet.

He went with me to the italian shower, reaching

past me to turn on a fine, hot misting spray. I stood
there, listlessly, before plucking at my shirt buttons
with almost no strength.

He took my hands in his. Large, muscular hands

that enveloped mine in warmth and bronzed
tenderness. He pushed them down at my sides and
then proceeded to undo my shirt, then my pants, with
care.

He unclipped his wires. He unstrapped the

vibrator. He lifted the soaked tape in gentle, easy
motions that hurt only a little. He lifted the flat battery
pack away from the small of my back, unbuckling the

pack away from the small of my back, unbuckling the
strap encircling my waist. His every move calm and
reassuring.

He nudged me, now naked and shivering before

him, into the warm jets of the shower. The water fell
in fine beads that drifted over my curves and washed
away some of the humiliation that clung to me like
smoke.

I was turned away from him, letting the water

course down my face, when I felt those strong hands
upon my shoulders. He rubbed at them, pressing his
thumbs in firmly, pushing at the exhaustion that was
weighing them down.

His bare chest brushed against me and low

upon my back, I felt his member, hot and standing
rigid, touch my skin.

I shivered as an echo of electricity rippled

through me like a ghost. My thighs parted without my
wishing it, even as I tipped my head back and let him
cradle my neck in his hands.

His chest was firm against me then and as he

moved his arms to encircle me, I could feel his
muscles ripple and move against me. His hands
found my breasts and when he lightly brushed my

nipples with his fingers, there was an ache of pain
and pleasure that made me cry out.

I turned around to face him, his cock swinging

gently to come to rest against my flat belly. I took in
his deep sea gaze and held it within my own before I
reached down to feel him.

His cock was thick at the base, in its nest of soft

brown hair. I ran my hand along it, feeling the heavily
veined skin moving like velvet under my touch. It was
probably all of nine inches from base to tip, maybe
ten, but that didn't worry me. After what I had just
been through, it would take more than Ewan Crest's
prick to faze me.

I tightened my fingers around him and was

surprised to feel him answer with a muscular twitch
through his member. His smile shone as he did it
and I felt warmth coming in to flood my folds once
more. The idea of that magnificent man, his cock
buried inside me, able to move of its own accord
while he moved in deep strokes...these thoughts
swept through me as my nipples tightened in
stinging redness.

My legs trembled with the desire that was

reawakening in me. Ewan must have seen it,

because he pushed down at my shoulders, still
gentle, but firm as I went to me knees.

I did it willingly, with the fine mist of hot water

running over us both. I knelt down and took his cock
deep into my mouth, ready to worship at the altar of
this Adonis.

He tasted of salt and of men. He was caramel

and musk. I wanted to inhale him even as I suckled
at him, stroking the underside of his head with my
tongue.

He took my head into his hands and supported

me as he began to force himself further and further
into my mouth. Slowly at first, his strokes lengthened
and deepened as I was habituated to his length.
Suddenly, I was sure that he was all of ten inches,
maybe more.

My eyes were upon his sandy brown hair and I

could see the paired veins that crossed from his
thighs to the base of his abdomen, one on each
side. They were lifted in his arousal, signs of male
delight. I would have liked to trace their paths with
my tongue.

Instead, I reached up to hold his balls in my

hands, lightly cupped upon my palm. They turned

within their sack, moving of their own accord and
something about that made my breath quicken and
deepen.

Ewan continued to bring more of himself into my

mouth as he moved in and out with long thrusting
motions. He was going farther than I had ever
allowed anyone and the meaning of that was not lost
on me.

He was pushing me, he was forcing me, and it

was I who had opened this door, willing and never
once thinking to say the single syllable that would
bring everything to an end...no.

His prick went in deep then, and his breath was

coming faster. I could feel his balls rising up to
tighten against the underside of his cock. I pressed
my fingers in tight to the flesh nearly at his asshole
and could feel his erection lift even fuller in my mouth.

Soon, his thrusts were bringing him to tap

against the back of my throat. Anyone else and I
would have gagged, whether I wanted to or not. But,
as was becoming more and more evident, the usual
rules did not seem to apply to Ewan Crest.

My pussy felt swollen and achy, but that didn't

stop me from wanting to widen legs, wishing that I

stop me from wanting to widen legs, wishing that I
could push myself tight to the italian marble floor. I
wanted to rub myself, I wanted to scratch the
delicious itch that prickled between my legs.

Ewan's breath was coming even faster when

suddenly, with a half stroke backwards, he froze,
holding himself still as a marble statue. His
respiration stopped, everything in hesitation when I
could feel his cock lifting up on its own, forcing itself
against the roof of my mouth with a terrific pressure
that I would not have believed possible. Then, with
an explosive breath outward, he heaved forward, my
head held in his hands as I felt the muscles at the
base of his cock flex, tighten and then release as if
he had thrown a javelin.

Hot, syrupy jism burt from him in forceful jets

tasting of salt. His cum spurted deep into my mouth.
I could feel some of it forcing its way in a spray up to
the back of my sinuses, stinging the tender flesh
there. He thrust himself forward, his fingers holding
me tight through my soaked hair. He rocked back
and then forward as his orgasm burst through him. I
could see those two veins at the junction of his hips
and thighs lifted up in chiseled relief.

He blew into me like a gale. I took him and all

that he had to give, wondering if I might drown in his
wake, not caring if I did. He was beauty in bronze
and he was mine, if for only the moment.

He came and he came, my own body aching to

answer in kind. I would never have believed that any
man possessed his capacity for eruption, except that
the proof was there in my mouth as I swallowed him
down.

Shuddering, his breath began to even out. He

pulled himself, finally, back from my lips, a long
strand of cum connecting me still to the angry, purple
headed beast before me.

I licked my lips, looking up at him, the shower

washing over me, a cloak of warmth to clothe me in
my nakedness.

He looked down at me and I felt puny in his

regard, but then his bright smile shone its light upon
me as he said, "Ok, Anna, my little Basque. This
was a very good first day."

He stepped out of the shower, his back turned to

me, before calling back to me over his shoulder,
"Now, go home and come back tomorrow. I've got
lots of things I want to show you."

I stood there, my pussy aching, my legs

trembling. I still had Ewan Crest's taste in my mouth.

I got shakily to my feet and did as I was told

because the master had dismissed me and there
was nothing else I could do.

***

My shoulders ache as I stand upon these two

platforms, my legs spread wide, my hands tied tightly
above me. I should have known better, you might
say.

I can't argue with that.
And, maybe, I exaggerated when I said Ewan

Crest was the devil. No, not literally Satan, after all.
Except that I've struck up a deal with someone just
as bad and before this is over, things are probably
going to get rough.

I can handle it, though. I mean, I think I can.
Witches are tough that way.

The End

###

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Other Books Available by Aimélie Aames

A Reluctant Witch in the Land of BDSM:

Racked and Ravished Threeway (Anna

Ixstassou, A Reluctant Witch in the Land of

BDSM)

The Marechal Chronicles: Volume 1, The

Path (An Erotic Fantasy Tale)

The Marechal Chronicles: Volume 2, The

Hunter (An Erotic Fantasy Tale)

For your reading pleasure, here is an excerpt

from The Marechal Chronicles, Volume 2, The
Hunter (An Erotic Fantasy Tale):

The Marechal Chronicles: Volume 2,

The Hunter

The interminable evening with Lord Perene had

finally ended and the Marechal found his
bedchamber quite comfortable, if not somewhat
cold. He undressed quickly, down to bare skin, and
slipped between the many layers of quilts and
blankets laid upon the baldaquin bed.

He blew out the candle at his bedside and

stared in the darkness at the low red coals upon the
grates of the fireplace. They had been hurriedly
dumped there and not long ago. He doubted it
would do much to warm the room and wondered
mildly if he should have kept his shirt.

Choosing not to move instead, he considered

the words of Lord Perene earlier, just before the
man's idiot son affronted the maidservant.

It would seem that I must read those passages

written by Bellamere before I continue south

, he

thought. Details that would be of little notice, even to
a collector accustomed to sifting through the words
of rare texts, might be hidden in the recounting of the
tale. Already, there was the name of St. Lucq
mentioned, and for that alone he determined that he
must find some means of reading those pages. It

would be delicate and would call for subtlety as Lord
Perene would laud it over him, no doubt looking for
some means of exacting a price. He would need to
be prudent with his request. Or, perhaps, manage
the thing without their notice.

A small noise just outside his door drew his

attention. The fine line of light from the corridor, at
the base of the door, had begun to grow larger in tiny
increments.

Then, a diaphanous shape filled the doorway,

making no sound, much as a phantom might move.
Except that this phantom let out a small hiss
stepping onto the cold flagstone floor, shutting the
door behind it, then glided across the room to come
to rest at the Marechal's bedside.

Bemused, he said, "Helene. Have you come to

check on the comfort of your father's guest?"

She replied, "Ah, you have not yet found sweet

repose, dear Marechal. I fear that the room is too
cool for a valued person such as yourself.

"Will you permit me to apologize?" she asked

and then, without waiting for him to reply, her thin
night robe dropped from her shoulders. In
silhouette, he could see her rigid nipples and slim,

silhouette, he could see her rigid nipples and slim,
smooth waist, just before she slipped under the
quilts beside him.

He said nothing as she nuzzled in close to him,

bare skin upon bare skin. Hers was cool, dry, and
soft in a way that reminded him of the ripe skin of an
afternoon peach, freshly picked from the branch.

"Isn't this better, Marechal? I had thought to send

the servants for a bed warmer of hot coals brought
up from the kitchen ovens, but then I thought of a
better solution, a more intimate answer to the chill
evening air."

Her voice was softer than the blankets and she

paused, waiting for him to fill in the moment, but he
said nothing, nor did he move in the slightest.

Her hands found him and touched his chest,

searching, until she found the line of the scar that
started at his jaw. She traced its lightning strike
shape, lingering at his collarbone, before continuing
upward to caress, at last, his cheek.

She turned herself half over, draping a leg

across his thigh. He could feel her downy hairs
below brushing against his leg, promising warmth in
its velvet confines. Her hand drifted back the way

that it had come, her touch light across the muscles
of his torso, still following the jagged track of a scar
that did not seem to end.

With a brusque movement, he seized her wrist in

a grip of iron. It was sudden and when she jerked
back in surprise, she discovered that he did not
move in the slightest, as if her wrist had been
encircled by an oak that refused to bend in the wind.

"What do you want, Helene? I watched you this

evening and could see the gears turning behind your
eyes, all that you see caught up in the clockwork of
your thoughts.

"I doubt that you do the least thing without some

well considered motive."

She smiled, casting her eyes downward,

demurring for the moment. She turned away from
him slightly, the loose curls of her coiffure slipping
from their braided confinement. Her neck curved
gracefully in a way that she knew men found
captivating, supple and elegant in its charm.

The Marechal's grip loosened upon her wrist and

she slipped smoothly from his grasp only to place
her hand upon the well defined muscles of his
abdomen. There she found fine hairs that

descended from his navel, coarsening and
thickening under her searching fingertips, until she
reached lower still, her fingers spread wide, to the
hair between his legs, letting it fill the spaces
between them.

She held him and he was rock hard, as rigid as

his grip had been a moment earlier. He reached out
to her, touching the outline of her side and the ribs
that would show just under her silky skin. He
brushed the side of her breast before taking it into
the palm of his hand. She was not an overly
endowed woman, a perfectly delicate equilibrium
showing in her noble bloodlines. The light frame and
structure of her body reflected in her delicate
breasts, tipped with small nipples. He had no doubt
that in daylight they were champagne pink in color
and that her breasts as exquisitely formed as the
finest crystal goblet.

He rolled her nipple between forefinger and

thumb, thinking of how she had grown very still, even
while holding him firmly in her hand under the quilts.
She laughed lightly as he squeezed before she
pushed his hand away.

She lifted up the quilts and then dived away and

underneath them, her elegant body graceful in its
every movement. Instantly, the Marechal felt warm,
humid breath before she closed her lips around him.
Her tongue danced around the tip of his cock, light
as a feather, from one side to the other in small
circles that took his breath away. It was nearly too
much and he had to steel himself from pulling back
and away from her.

Sensing him and the tension in his legs, she

changed the dance of her tongue, skipping as lightly
as ever before coming to rest firmly under his head,
where her tongue flattened and pressed him with an
amazing firmness before lifting up every so slowly in
a long, single stroke that stopped short of the tip.

Despite his self control, his desire of self

mastery, the Marechal groaned in pleasure.

He felt her smile then, believing that she had

won, before she took him entirely inside her mouth,
descending in luscious full movements,
accompanied by a tongue that danced as if fevered.

Her hand slipped around his sack, cupping him,

then she held two finger underneath it and pressed
firmly. Inside her mouth she could feel him growing
fuller under the pressure of her fingers, his

fuller under the pressure of her fingers, his
tumescence heightening as she continued her
fervent rhythm.

The Marechal reached out to her, to run his hand

along the inside of her thigh, searching for the velvet
hairs he had felt earlier. Finding them, he touched
her lightly, only to find her cool and dry. In the same
moment, she came to a sudden stop, her mouth
suddenly less welcoming as she let her teeth rake
down the side of his shaft. It was just short of
unpleasant and the Marechal read the warning in her
breath.

She twisted her buttocks from his grasp, then

returned to the rhythm of her mouth upon him. She
fondled his balls, returning her fingers to press again
and again just below, where the root of his erection
began before giving way to his anus.

What game is this?

he asked himself, then

decided that he would see it to the end.

Her tongue lapped at him and danced, and with

a heave of his long thighs, the Marechal thrust
himself into her mouth, matching her rhythm, daring
her to back away. She came back at him with force
and did not hesitate to take him even deeper.

The faint glow in the hearth had fallen down to

mere embers while the two of them broke into fine
sweat. The elegant, fine lips of a noblewoman held
him, and despite him, she was his match. She did
not release him, nor did her tongue tire of the deep
lapping strokes at the underside of his cock, until the
Marechal could contain himself no longer, biting
down hard, his jaw clenched, then the breath hissing
out from between his teeth as the veins just under the
skin of his hips lifted, as the motion of his abdomen
stilled, tensing in the instant. He rose up off the bed,
his back arched, and came hard into her mouth. He
came like the lashes of a whip, striking out at the
nobleman's daughter, yet she was his match and
took all that he had to give.

She slipped out of the quilts, stooping lightly to

the floor for her robe, and put it on before turning
back to the Marechal.

"My father grows old and my brother is a fool, so

our future falls to me and the small measures at my
disposal. What I want is protection for my family...for
my house, Marechal. You are an influential man, so I
have offered what I have to give. I trust in your honor
as a gallant man that you shall not forget it."

She padded lightly to the chamber door before

letting herself out.

The coals in the hearth had fallen to ash. The

Marechal frowned as he remembered her smile and
the way it did not reach her eyes...even if he had to
admit that he no longer felt the chill air.

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