Feature Writer: Unknown
Feature Title: That Old Black Magic
Story Codes: Supernatural, Demonic, Magic
That Old Black Magic
Meera timed her chant to end when she’d traced the last sigil on the stone floor of her Summoning Room. She stepped back to admire it. The intricate chalk work, as insubstantial as it looked, would be strong enough to hold the demon she would be invoking. Then his vitality – his power would be hers! Once summoned into her magic circle, he would be helpless before her – helpless! Her wavy red hair shook as she chortled with evil glee.
Though only about shoulder-length, she was keeping it back with a silver tiara set with a blood-red stone. She was dressed for an assignation with a beast of the nether regions – namely, very skimpily, indeed. A belt of small brass rings encircled her waist, with a narrow rectangle of red silk drawn up between her legs and looped through the front and back rings. Another red silk rectangle was simply tied around her chest, bandeau-style. The red contracted nicely with her pale white skin. A pair of golden sandals that laced up to her knees completed the ensemble.
Satisfied with her handiwork, she sighed a happy, contented sigh, then put away the materials she’d needed for the warding, replacing them with the materials she’d need for the summoning. They included, at the last, a set of heavy iron manacles and shackles. Demons were known for their… “exuberant” nature.
Thus prepared, she lit the candles and began the more complex dark ritual. Soon, the summoning room was filling with a mystic fog, and a figure materialized from it. It was human-sized, but its dark red skin and small horns on the forehead bespoke of its infernal origin.
“Who calls forth the mighty Mehr-Khant the Binder! Whose pride dooms them to eternal torment?” he bellowed.
“I, Meera the Red, do summon and command the Binder,” Meera retorted with a disdainful curl of her lip. The mists were dissipating, and she tossed the irons at the demon’s feet., taking care that they landed within the circle. “Put these on!”
Mehr-Khant picked up the bindings and examined them carefully.
“Much skill went into these. And much gold.” The demon shifted his gaze to the beautiful sorceress. “You must want one of my deepest secrets to prepare so carefully,” he purred.
Meera did not like the turn of events. By all rights, he should be rushing to do her bidding, not stopping to compliment her on her attention to detail.
“Indeed,” continued the fiend. “Such careful preparations lead me to wonder why, then, I have been placed within a ‘Circle of Protection and Binding of Demons?” He smiled broadly.
Shocked, Meera turned her gaze to the section of the circle his description referred to. And the sight tied a knot in the pit of her stomach. She had used an archaic plural of the word while the rest of the circle was scribed in the middle-period tongue.
Which meant…
What it meant became all too swiftly clear as the demon bounded from the middle of the circle, caught her up in his powerful arms and clamped the wrist irons painfully tight. He jerked her arms up roughly and had the chain linking the manacles looped over the hook Meera had had waiting for her intended paramour. He then knelt down and clapped the shackles firmly on her shapely ankles. He summoned a lock that he used to secure the linking chain to a ring on the floor and Meera was fixed in the exposed position she had planned for Mehr-Khant. The demon sauntered to a nearby crank and used it to draw out the slack in the sorceress’ suspension.
Meera was in peril, but, as yet, not helpless. She opened her mouth and began an incantation. But The Binder understood too well, and he produced an object – a long rubber prong affixed to a buckled strap – and deftly slipped it into her mouth as she was attempting her spell. The gag slid far down her throat – she nearly choked – and he quickly pulled the strap tight and buckled it.
The front of the strap was wide enough to seal her mouth shut and the projection pressed her tongue down. The spell was short-circuited. Furthermore, the gag was coated with a noxious fluid that nearly sickened Meera. She fought the nausea back, realizing that with the gag having sealed her mouth shut, there was no place for any results of her illness to go. She shook her head, concentrated on ignoring the taste and the intrusion and quickly regained control of her gag reflex. But now, she WAS helpless.
A few more “clacks” from the suspension crank brought the sorceress’ attention back to Mehr-Khant. He chuckled evilly.
“So, the Mistress turned the slave,” he gloated. “For such effrontery, your death will be slow and agonizing. Unless….” He paused for dramatic effect. “You wish to grant me your soul.
“Do you? Do you wish to grant me your soul?” His request dripped with the honey that always covered such trades.
Meera insistently shook her head.
The fiend shrugged nonchalantly. “So be it.”
He turned to the whip rack and started inspecting its contents.
“You thought yourself a fit consort for the likes of me. Well, I should prefer to be the judge of that.” He selected a light braided-leather whip, tested its strength, its suppleness. In no way a bullwhip, but still capable of stinging very smartly. He turned his head suddenly towards her.
“Suck the gag. Suck it in such a way as it would give pleasure to a demonic prince. Suck it like you were a cheap alley-slut!”
As haughtily as she could, Meera shook her head in refusal.
“I do not recall allowing you an option,” sneered the fiend and he snapped the whip, wrapping it around her ribs with a slick snap. She flinched and groaned, but still shook her head in denial. Three more whistling strikes followed – the first on her hip, the second, more sinister-sounding, flicked her belly. The third tried to reach up to her breasts, but the whip tip tangled in the cloth of the bandeau, snagging it.
A couple of pulls revealed her right breast, but one of the ends had gotten tangled firmly in the silk. Mehr-Khant simply walked up to the suspended sorceress and yanked the frail protection completely away, freeing the whip as he did so. Then he reached up and roughly kneaded her soft flesh, pinching the exposed nipples. She squealed, wriggled and writhed to avoid the worst, and the demon frowned. “Too much give,” he muttered, and left off his molesting and headed for the winch that kept her aloft.
She quickly understood what was about to happen.
“NUUU! NU!” She pleaded with her eyes.
He turned back. “This need not happen. You can suck the gag…”
She shook her head again.
“…or we can cut to the chase, and you can give me your soul.”
Her refusal was even more emphatic.
He sighed and shrugged. “Very well….”
He weighed into the winch crank handle and coaxed four more “clacks” from it – accompanied by her increased groans and a flinging back of her head. The ratcheting pulled her skin tighter against her rib cage and it began to interfere with her breathing. Then, he moved in front of her and the whip darted out a half-dozen more times. He had found his rhythm and he understood, now, how this whip reacted. Each flick now stung – especially the two that caught her breasts. They caused her to draw in her breath quickly, elicited pain-filled squeaks from her gagged lips.
“Suck?”
Head shake.
“Soul?”
Another.
“Fine.” He reached for her again.
This time, he pulled the cloth from between her legs, exposing her crotch. He turned to toss the flimsy garment away, then suddenly had his whip hand shoot out. The tip caught her on a diagonal just above her Venus mound. Her squeak sounded more desperate, more panicked, less sure of herself. Another half-dozen serpentine strikes followed, concentrating on her lower body. Her thighs took a couple of blows, her ass took a couple more, Finally, the tip found her crotch, and her gagged yelps now were accompanied by muffled pleadings. A second, sharper snap at her groin caused her to redouble her gagged negotiations.
“Suck!” was his only rejoinder.
Tears of pain glistening in her eyes, she gazed upon his implacable face and submitted. She lolled her tongue around the intruding shaft. Unable to use her hands, and with no partner to produce a rhythm she could time her efforts to, she clumsily pleasured the gag, bobbing her head in an attempt to reproduce the sexual motion. But, judging from the look on his face, the demon was not impressed at all with her oral technique.
With a motion from his hand, she suddenly felt a squirting sensation in her mouth and a liquid ran down the back of her throat, causing her to cough for a few minutes. She was perversely glad that the gag was in so deep that the juice missed most of her tongue, for what little she tasted of it was vile indeed.
“I caused that not because you were so good, but that I wanted you to taste it,” explained The Binder. “For otherwise, you were wretched. I see no need to keep you any longer.”
With a pair of dismissive flicks of the whip, the demon struck her breasts and crotch again, then turned to the restraints arrayed on a nearby table. He picked up a small strap and a length of thin cord.
As he approached her, he observed, “Still, your soul will be of use to me. Do you grant it?”
She summoned up reserves of strength to shake her head yet once more. He smiled evilly.
“Good! I was hoping it would come to this!”
He was now up close. Leering into her face, then lewdly scanning her taut body, then finally groping and fondling her. After an expedition to her crotch, the demon inspected his hand, gave it an experimental sniff and smiled. Wiping his finger under her nose.
The Binder chortled, “Some of you does not object to this treatment!”
Her face already red with exertion, Meera found it hard to believe it could get any redder – but it did from the shame and humiliation of her body’s betrayal.
Mehr-Khant now took the short strap and wound it around Meera’s arms. The strap was right behind her head and it pushed it forward and down. He then pulled it tight, causing already aching shoulders (and their beleaguered owner) to scream in agony. Satisfied with that, the fiend then took the cord and, from behind, wrapped the ends to the front, tied the first half of a square knot, brought the ends back behind his captive. Then with a steady pressure, he pulled, causing the half-knot to tighten against the sorceress’ windpipe.
Meera gurgled in alarm. She desperately wanted to throw her head back between her arms, relieve some of the strangulating pressure on her throat, but the new strap prevented that. Even worse, as the demon’s pull strengthened, the strap acted as a kind of spring, producing a forward-pushing force that augmented the backward pull of the cord. Soon, she was gasping and wheezing, and her determined writhing picked up the pace as she struggled, somehow – anyhow to escape.
The demon seemed to wait until there was the perfect mix of wheezes, gurgles and gasps, then tied off the cord at the back of Meera’s neck. He then went back to the worktable for a coil of strong rope. He returned to standing behind his captive and wrapped the rope around her waist and pulled it tight. She groaned as he tied off one end, including a loop in the front. Then he took the other end, dangling behind her, then drew it up and snaked it under the second strand of the strangulation cord.
Then he ran it down to between her legs, pushed it through, then brought it back up, slipping the free end through the loop that he’d left in the front of her waist cincher. Next, he then threaded the end through a pulley attached to one of the rafters of the room, then brought it back down.
Finally, he took up all the slack and tied it off to a kind of heavy-duty metal basket he‘d placed on the worktable, making sure the knot was secure. Mehr-Khant then selected about thirty pounds of weights and put them in the basket. Turning to smile at his victim, the demon then brought the basket to the edge of the table.
Meera saw what was coming but was helpless to stop it. She writhed and grunted and gasped, but the fiend implacably finished pushing the weighted basket off the table. It fell only a foot, but the rope ran through her crotch and pulled down on the garrote. The half-knot at her throat drew tighter and pulled her head up against the strap that held her arms together. She wheezed, then desperately tried to use her head to work the strap up, or down, in order to let her head go between her arms and relieve some of the pressure on her throat. But the strap remained where it was and reproduced its spring effect as the weight pulled her head against it.
She had no idea how she was going to escape, but Meera had to try. She twisted her body, fought her chains, tried everything she could to keep the rope from strangling her. But then the demon got up, worked the winch a couple more clicks to draw her even tighter. Then he placed another 5 pounds in the basket, and the garrote reduced her to tiny squeaks and gurgles. She began to lose focus. She was losing her battle.
As she was losing, though, her power was welling up inside her. It intensified, multiplied. Soon, its warmth had spread from her center to all over her body and mind. Finally, just as the deadly garrote was finishing its work, it exploded within her, though its intensity was hidden (and maybe reinforced) by the fact she could barely move. As her consciousness faded, she felt like she was falling into someone’s strong, protective arms.
It had been worth keeping her soul for this.
xxxxx
“We can continue this tomorrow,” he said.
Myra pulled herself up off the platform, massaging her neck and rubbing her shoulders.
“No, I’m ready now. Besides,” she added, looking at her demonically-done-up lover, “You look good enough to eat!”
Tom looked down at the flavored body paint that covered him. “I do, at that. Take a taste.” He proffered an arm.
Myra gave it a long, sensuous lick, ran her tongue around inside her mouth, then gave a wicked smile.
“Mmmmmm. Raspberry demon. My favorite!”
He returned the wicked smile. Then, as one hand picked up the chain-linked cuffs and steel collar, the other directed her to turn around. She did so obediently, putting her hands behind her. He cuffed them together and replaced the chain belt with a solid waist cincher to which he locked the wrist cuffs. He ran one end of the chain up to her neck, where he locked the collar. Next, a set of elbow cuffs that dangled from the spinal chain were affixed. Then the other end of the chain was brought to her ankles, where the cuffs at the end were securely locked. All of the steel shackles were then tightened. She gasped and, as he stood back to look, Myra looked behind her shoulder and tested her confinement.
Myra gave a little shake, then looked up to her captor with a smoldering look. It was Tom’s turn to gasp. He then gave her the spin move with his hand and she turned to face him, mouth wide open. He took up a wide ring gag, wedged into her mouth, then strapped it in tightly. She experimented with trying to shake it off, then tried to open her mouth a little more to loosen it and work it out of her mouth. Both attempts failed. Her tongue darted out enticingly.
The erstwhile demon sighed contentedly as he laid down on the platform and directed his slave to begin her work.
“Sometimes,” he mused as her tongue flicked along his ribs, “It’s good to be bad!”
THE END