Mistresses of the Hidden Craft
Copyright© 2025 by Saakael
Chapter 5
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 5 - “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
“ ... so let me get this straight: she eats steak, I chew on a gag, and this is what the Council calls an education?” — excerpt from one of fifteen complaint letters received from Phase Two apprentices, MDAP class of 1967
April 16, 2025 – Kael Family Manor (Irish countryside) – 7:00 p.m.
Sybille was furious. And not the kind of furious she had been as a teenager when her mother refused to let her go out, or when some witch at school got too smug. No—this time she was truly furious.
Her face burned crimson, and she would have unleashed a torrent of insults at that nobody, Lucina—if only the big gag strapped between her lips hadn’t reduced every word to incomprehensible, ridiculous noises.
She was no longer in her crate, but her situation was no better, nor any more acceptable.
She was on her bed. But of course, her self-proclaimed “Mistress” (Sybille stubbornly refused, even to herself, to admit that the appointment had come from the Magic Council) hadn’t simply set her there.
No—Lucina, calm and effortless, had levitated her straight from the crate to the mattress, placing her face not toward the wall but toward the room. Then she had conjured a new pair of shackles. That sadist—as Sybille called her—had “invited” (forced) her to draw her already cuffed ankles closer to her already cuffed wrists, linking them together with a third pair and locking her into a particularly strict hogtie.
The bondage was humiliating, the gag was maddening ... in fact, the whole situation was both frustrating and degrading. But the fact that Lucina had set up a little whiteboard on a stand in her bedroom and was now giving her something that passed for a “lesson” while she lay there chained and gagged—that was beyond insulting.
“My name is Lucina Velatrix. And for you, it is Mistress—or Mistress Lucina,” declared the latex-clad witch in a firm tone, a riding crop in her hand which she wielded like a teacher’s pointer toward the items on the whiteboard.
“MMMMPPPHHH!” Sybille protested, writhing in her bonds.
But Lucina paid her protests no mind.
“I will be uncompromising about my title. You would do well to remember it.” She paused briefly, then allowed a smile to curve her lips. “Of course, any insult or ... inappropriate vocabulary on your part—and I have no doubt you can be very imaginative—will result in immediate punishment.”
She punctuated the warning with a sharp, controlled strike of the crop against the whiteboard, the crack echoing through the room like a gunshot.
The “little message” on the board, of course, did nothing to quiet Sybille. She kept right on protesting—gagged, furious, and utterly incomprehensible.
Lucina brushed it off as easily as the last outburst. She lowered her crop to the next line on the whiteboard, where she had scrawled Phase 2—complete with doodled hearts around it.
“Phase Two,” Lucina began, her tone firm and authoritative yet carrying the patience of a teacher wrangling rowdy students, “is in fact the first true step on the long, very long road that may—if you prove worthy—lead you to the grail: the title of Magical Dominatrix.”
Beneath the heading, a list of keywords sprawled across the board. Sybille hated every single one of them.
“Phase Two is built on the bond between an all-powerful Mistress—currently in Phase Four of the program, which would be me”—Lucina’s smile turned proud and mischievous—”and a young witch still untested in the ancient art of BDSM: the submissive. That would be you.”
“MMMMPPPHHHFFF!” Sybille screamed, yanking at her chains in the vain hope they’d give way.
But her magic betrayed her. Every attempt to strike at Lucina—or to unravel the spells she’d cast—fizzled out before it even began, as if the power itself refused to answer.
Normally, breaking restraints should have been child’s play for a witch of her caliber. Optimistic, maybe, given they were forged specifically for witches, but with time she could have worn them down.
Not here. Not with her. Every spark of resistance guttered out the instant she tried, leaving Sybille helpless—bound, gagged, and utterly at the mercy of this latex-clad woman wielding a riding crop like a schoolteacher’s pointer.
“The good news for you,” Lucina went on, tapping her crop against the second keyword, “is that what’s expected of you is fairly simple: obedience.”
Sybille shot Lucina a glare dark enough to make her meaning unmistakable: she had no intention whatsoever of obeying.
Lucina didn’t even flinch. She continued her “lesson” as if Sybille had said nothing.
“For the two years we’ll be spending together,” Lucina said, “you’ll learn what it truly means to be a submissive.” She paused, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “And I have no doubt that with a bit of work, I’ll turn you into the perfect little submissive.”
Sybille screamed into her gag again, then—bitterly realizing Lucina didn’t care—she turned her head away, refused to look at the board, and silently plotted her revenge. A revenge she was sure would come—and it would leave her so-called mistress paralyzed.
Lucina registered Sybille’s deliberate disinterest and stopped speaking. She hesitated a moment, then smiled once more.
From the backpack she had brought into the room—out of which she’d produced her crop—she pulled a thin, meter-long cord and climbed onto the bed. Sitting beside Sybille, she placed one hand near the girl’s neck and shoulders.
“You know,” she said casually, “before the MDAP, I trained to become a schoolteacher.” She settled next to Sybille, her voice gentle. “I even taught at a magical primary school in Hexa Dublin.”
The witch gathered Sybille’s long, night-black hair and began binding it carefully with the cord.
“MMMPHHH! MMMPHHHH!” Sybille struggled against her bonds, furious and helpless.
“One thing that used to piss me off,” Lucina continued, tightening the knot with precise, steady fingers, “was how children would stare at everything but the board.” She smirked. “Fortunately, with you, I have much more ... persuasive methods to fix that problem.”
Without warning, Lucina yanked on the cord, forcing Sybille’s head to lift—tilting it directly toward the whiteboard.
Then, with controlled precision, she directed the free end of the cord toward Sybille’s toes.
“MMMPHHH! MMMPHHFFF!” Sybille squealed in shock, her body jerking in the unpopular realization of what was happening: Lucina was tying her bound hair to her big toes, tightening the hogtie even further—leaving her no choice but to keep her head tilted upward, her eyes locked on the board.
“Much better,” Lucina commented with a smile once the cord was tied.
She rose from the bed and returned to the whiteboard, clearly satisfied that Sybille’s eyes were now locked squarely on her.
“During these two years we will spend together, I’ll make you discover every facet of BDSM—as the receiver of these practices,” she said with amused emphasis.