Mistresses of the Hidden Craft
Copyright© 2025 by Saakael
Chapter 4
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 4 - “BDSM: A sacred discipline of witchcraft, where power, restraint, and sensation are shaped into ritual and mastery. Conceived by witches; later stolen and crudely imitated by humans.” — Lexicon of Magical Arts, Vol. I Witches don’t play with BDSM. They perfect it. At Kael Manor, every ritual fuses dominance and devotion; every restraint is a lesson, every shiver a step toward power. And once you’re caught in their world… escape isn’t really the point.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Magic BDSM DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Spanking
“The Council? Think of it like a drinking contest, love. Everyone goes in thinking they’ll win, and most end up flat on the floor wondering what happened.” — overheard at The Siren’s Cauldron, Hexa Dublin
April 16, 2025 – Hexa Dublin (capital of witches and warlocks) – 9:50 a.m.
The imagination of humans had always been vivid when it came to witches and sorcerers—and often, unbearably cliché. Hunched old crones (when in truth no witch ever aged beyond the appearance of thirty-five), gloomy castles, cauldrons, and other such caricatures. More recently, popular literature and films had somewhat softened and reshaped humanity’s perception of a “hypothetical” magical world.
But no matter the clichés, no matter the images conjured up by human fantasy, none of them had ever come close to envisioning a city like Hexa Dublin.
For fifteen centuries, Hexa Dublin had been the undisputed capital of the magical world. Not merely the magical capital of Ireland—no, it was the only true capital of witches and sorcerers across Earth and the lower realms alike.
Home to nearly a million souls (no small number, considering the worldwide population of witches barely exceeded a hundred million), the city carried the weight of its long history with pride. Its landmarks were as legendary as they were awe-inspiring: the Great Arch of Magic, whose blue flames burned ceaselessly day and night, illuminating the skies; the Tower of Divination (under repair at present, but still visible from the wealthiest districts of the capital); the Coliseum of Rubies, which had hosted sporting competitions for a millennium (though the once-popular death duels of goblins and other magical creatures had been outlawed for the past century).
Yet beyond these wonders, Hexa Dublin’s true marvel lay in its contrasts. The city was a breathtaking patchwork: towering gothic structures that looked frozen in the fourteenth century standing side by side with ultramodern spires of glass and light—buildings so advanced they made Shanghai seem like a city still stumbling through its first steps of urbanization.
Where was this city located? Not far from the human world at all. In fact, it floated directly above the city of Dublin. Suspended in the skies, Hexa Dublin was held aloft by the Great Arch of Magic and hidden within an alternate plane of existence.
It was thanks to this powerful sorcery that, for more than fifteen centuries, no resident of Dublin had ever raised their eyes in terror to discover a vast, gothic-yet-futuristic city hovering hundreds of meters above their homes.
But all of this, Sybille Kael couldn’t have cared less about. Not only because she already knew the city like the back of her hand, but also because today she wasn’t here for sightseeing, window shopping, or hopping between the city’s most exclusive nightclubs (open twenty-four hours a day, no less).
No — if Sybille was in Hexa Dublin today, just like her mother, it was because the great day had finally arrived. Today, the young Kael, alongside dozens of other witches, would see her application to the Magical Dominatrix Apprenticeship Program reviewed by the Council and, she had not the slightest doubt, approved.
The building of the Magic Council — government of all witches and wizards — took the form of a massive dome. From the vantage point of the Square of All Dominions (the city’s foremost tourist landmark), its left wing looked like a grand Haussmannian structure, while its right wing rose like a glittering Dubai tower. The sharp contrast was deliberate, a symbol of the Council’s commitment to both tradition and modernity.
For most, visiting the Magic Council was both thrilling and nerve-racking. Sybille, however, walking through the corridors of the building’s left wing — the Haussmannian side — in her finest blue gown by Enchanteresse (a brand that had cost Selene a small fortune), with her mother not far ahead, felt neither thrill nor nerves.
A mistake, perhaps? That thought never even crossed her mind.
These halls had been walked by her ancestors for centuries — as clerks, advisors, and council members — ever since the adoption of the Consulate system seven hundred years earlier. To Sybille, striding proudly through the broad corridors and casting defiant glances at the other young witches (her potential rivals), the place felt almost like home.
Here, nothing could possibly go wrong.
Could it?
“Here we part ways,” Selene said, dressed in her ceremonial robes as they reached the great hall before the Council chamber. A sign pointed off to the side: “MDAP Candidates – Please wait in the room to your right.” “I’ll see you inside,” she added with a smile—one that, for once, held no trace of mischief.
Sybille shrugged with casual defiance and started toward the waiting room, where she knew more than a hundred and fifty other candidates were already gathered.
“Wait, Sybille,” Selene stopped her just before she reached the door. “You can still change your mind if you wish.”
Her daughter rolled her eyes. “And let you keep having all the fun? Not a chance.”
Then, with her chin lifted, she pushed into the waiting room.
Selene sighed, though a fond smile crept to her lips, her own memories of youth flickering in the back of her mind. Then, with a subtle adjustment of her ceremonial robes, the matriarch of House Kael turned away from the waiting hall and approached the great double doors that guarded the Council chamber.
They stood taller than any mortal cathedral doors, hewn from ancient oak reinforced with veins of shimmering runes that pulsed faintly with power. The carved panels bore the history of Hexa Dublin itself — the founding of the city, the wars endured, the treaties signed — a reminder to all who entered that they walked into the beating heart of magical governance.
At her approach, the doors swung open soundlessly, not by hand but by enchantment, revealing the chamber beyond.
The Council’s hall was vast, a cathedral of stone and light. High, arched windows poured in daylight that fractured through enchantments into shifting hues, painting the marble floor with living color. The ceiling soared above, ribbed with gothic arches threaded with veins of glowing crystal. Hanging between them, spheres of witchlight floated like captured stars, bathing the room in a steady, ethereal glow.
At the far end rose the great crescent of black obsidian, polished to a mirror sheen, its surface etched with runes that thrummed faintly with restrained power. Behind it stood thirteen high-backed chairs, each unique, carved or forged in the style of the house that claimed it. Together they formed no throne, but a table of equals — colleagues, not monarchs. And yet, the weight of their authority pressed upon the chamber like a storm contained in silence.
“Selene Kael,” Osiris Flametower remarked with a smile, “late, for once.”
Osiris, a striking woman of one hundred and seventeen, wore her long crimson hair (not auburn, but crimson) loose over a gleaming latex outfit of the same shade. Once a renowned Magical Dominatrix, she was among Selene’s closest friends. Their friendship often expressed itself through playful jabs—and ever since she had learned of Sybille’s candidacy to the MDAP, Osiris had been enjoying herself all the more.
Morgana Tissandre, seventy-nine years old, with long blonde hair and the severe bearing of a schoolmistress, rolled her eyes. “The review of applications does not begin for another five minutes. Lady Kael is therefore perfectly on time.”
Selene responded to Osiris’s remark with an affectionate grimace, and to Morgana’s with a brief nod.
She offered polite greetings to the nine other council members present: Azur Swan (109), Cèdre Crimson (135), Cynthia Velmanth (90), Eleonore Dartfallen (95), Galatea Moonriver (82), Helena Drake (101), Persephone Duskvale (120), and the ever-imposing Amaterasu Abadon (the eldest, though her exact age was a matter of rumor more than record).
And finally, Dorian Ashvale (102 years old), the Council’s sole male member — a position guaranteed by the Representation Charter, an old rule requiring that at least one sorcerer sit among the thirteen. In a world where witches outnumbered warlocks thirty to one, the clause was less about fairness than symbolism, but tradition held firm.
“We’ve got some rather questionable candidates this year,” Dorian remarked as Selene took her seat at the far left of the crescent table. “Out of 163 applicants, I counted fourteen who openly admitted to having ‘some difficulties’ with even minor spells.”
Osiris’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Oh, poor Dorian. As if you had the faintest idea what qualities it takes to become a Magical Dominatrix.”
For a moment Dorian hesitated, unsure whether she was mocking him or merely joking. Fortunately, Selene came to his rescue.
“She’s teasing you,” Selene said with quiet amusement. “Osiris would never let a mediocre witch slip into the program. After all, it concerns ‘the honor of the title of Magical Dominatrix, which she has worn proudly for the past ninety years’—to quote her own words to me just yesterday.”
“We have, above all, a Kael,” Amaterasu interjected, her voice cutting cleanly through the chamber and silencing the table.
As the eldest member, Amaterasu was regarded as the Council’s natural leader—though in practice her vote carried no more weight than the others.
“Yes,” Morgana replied crisply, “but that does not mean she should be admitted by default. The process is the same for all. Rules are rules.”
“I ask for no special treatment for my daughter,” Selene said evenly. “I support her candidacy, but I will abide by the Council’s judgment if you believe she is not ready—or if stronger candidates present themselves.”
The Council members nodded in unison, satisfied with the clarity of the Kael matriarch’s statement.
“Very well, let us begin,” ordered Amaterasu with a smile.
The day promised to be an interesting one.
Six hours later.
Sybille was still in the waiting room, seated on a bench, legs crossed, her expression clearly one of irritation.
For nearly six hours, the brunette had watched the endless ballet of candidates being called into the Council chamber.
Some returned in tears, breaking the news to their friends that they had been rejected. Others came back only to say they would be recalled once all candidates had been seen. But Sybille herself had yet to be summoned.
The letter K had passed more than two hours ago, yet the Council’s administrative officer in charge of calling names stubbornly refused to announce hers. Naturally, Sybille had pointed out more than once that she had surely been forgotten, but each time she was told no — she simply had to wait.
Wait ... the one thing Sybille hated most.
Glancing around, Sybille noticed that most of the girls still in the room had already been called in once before.
She was among the very last to be auditioned, a fact that displeased her greatly.
With a sharp sigh, she checked her enchanted watch, its hands glittering faintly with runic light.
Wonderful. At this pace, I’ll never have time to go home, slip into something decent, and get back here in time to toast my glorious admission with the girls.
Her jaw tightened. Six hours ... what in the world could they even be doing in there? Brewing tea? Arguing over whose turn it is to speak? It can’t possibly take this long just to look at a few candidates.
She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them with deliberate impatience, earning a glance from the girl opposite her. Sybille ignored it.
I swear, if they make me wait another hour, I’ll walk in uninvited and audition myself right there at the table. Let them see how much “Dominatrix material” I have when I start tying up their precious administrators just to pass the time.
A faint smirk tugged at her lips, though her irritation simmered on.
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