Chapter 1 - Under Her Spell

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Time. The inexorable march forward. A precious commodity to most, though they rarely acted like it. A triviality to the Chosen, though they arguably spent more of their waking hours living in the moment. A paradox? Or just a cruel joke?

Did having time in abundance cheapen its value? That’s how it worked for everything else. Scarcity determines value. If that were true, it would mean ... No, time was different. No matter how much people imagined they had, they craved more. It was the one thing money couldn’t buy and power couldn’t seize.

Or rather, they pined for more until they grew old and frail. As their youth depleted and their faculties failed, it was understandable that the longing for more time ebbed. And that was the crux. How much more time would they desire if not for the specters of frailty, decay and irrelevance?

Cassandra had ruminated on this topic many times before and no doubt would again. She sipped her morning tea as she gazed out her living room window from the comfort of her leather sofa. It was a drab, overcast day, typical of Tumwater, Washington. A perfect day for her to go on a walk if she so desired. What did she desire? Cassie hadn’t decided yet.

The slim, raven-haired beauty placed her mug on a coaster atop the coffee table. She took up her laptop, logged into her broker and checked her stocks. The market was up. She was wealthier today than she had been yesterday. And tomorrow she would likely be wealthier than she was today. Boring. Unworthy of her attention.

Cassie checked her news feeds. There was the usual political squabbling. A few minor conflicts among the various factions of the mundane. The outbreak of some new disease which would never threaten her. Nothing of great interest.

Perhaps this was a day for reading? There was always reading to be done. So much reading ... It never ended. Occasionally it led to fascinating discoveries. The problem with ancient texts is that for each one with useful knowledge, there were nine hundred and ninety nine full of utter tripe. Each time you found a needle in the haystack you patted yourself on the back and began the search for the next one. It was necessary work if one wanted to advance in the fiendish underworld of which she was a part, but it had to be done in moderation. Otherwise, one would go mad.

Like all of her kind, Cassie was driven by her primal urges. Feasting and fucking ranked highest in her hierarchy of needs. In the old days, feasting would’ve placed a strong first. In modern times, the craving to rut and sexually conquer consumed her thoughts as thoroughly as she she dominated every man she got her hands on.

She could go to the Scarlet Sanctum, home of her clan, and have a few turns with whichever house slaves caught her interest. That’s what she did most days. Mundane and Chosen males alike were abundant there, adorned in gleaming bondage and waiting to serve their betters. But that would also mean run-ins with her clan sisters and likely, Sadie, Headmistress of the Crimson Dawn.

That would lead to chit chat of fashion, banter of sexual exploits, invitations to dinner and oft rehashed arguments about the direction of their order. As much as she enjoyed the company of her contemporaries, Cassie had grown tired of the internal jockeying and bickering.

Besides, that was the easy path, If she was honest with herself, she’d taken it too often lately. It was time to get back to basics and find herself a new play-thing. Someone she could enjoy privately until she decided what use he would best serve. A personal servant and sex toy? Or more fodder for Sadie’s Bordello? It was commonplace to experience the former before settling into the latter.

Any that angered her sisters would suffer a worse fate. A one-time slaking of the thirst before being disappeared and discarded. But that was rare these days. It was so much more gratifying to entrance, enslave and bind them in perpetual service. There was scarce cause for dispute when they were so easily seduced. The supernatural charms of Cassie and her like made men putty in their hands.

Despite their helpless nature and the cold utility through which men were often harvested, she hadn’t given up on romance. The Chosen never could, no matter how old and cynical they grew. Love was the only thing better than lust. Better than sinking one’s teeth into warm flesh. It was the rarest and most dangerous thing. The most tragic and beautiful of life’s thorny mysteries. And Cassandra wanted to feel it again. It had been too long since she had.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Cassie glanced at the grandfather clock by her mantle. The morning was slipping away as she sat there, lost in thought. It was time to take action. She opened a fresh tab in her browser and navigated to Kinksters. It was the favored platform of the depraved who were looking for hookups, play groups and sometimes even long term committed relationships.

She hadn’t logged on it at least two weeks. Predictably, Cassie was assaulted by a tidal wave of red notification markers. Hundreds of likes and comments. Over sixty instant messages from guys praising her profile, drooling over her pictures, begging her to dominate them. Men groveling at her virtual feet and offering anything for a chance to be with her.

Cassandra stopped reading after the first few and banished the messaging tab. She clicked into the Personals section and began a local search. Submissive men looking for women in a 25 mile radius. She began clicking through profiles hurriedly, dismissing them if she saw one trait she disliked or a single comment in their bio that annoyed her.

There was no shortage of handsome bitch boys to choose from, but she knew from experience that a lot of them were fakes. Some wanted to top from the bottom, others were cheating on their wives and some were reaching for a fantasy they enjoyed in porn but would run screaming from in real life once they got a taste. This mattered less to Cassie, since she could mold these sluts into whatever she wanted, but she felt bad for the average dominant woman who had to navigate all this nonsense.

After a few minutes of rifling through profiles, her hand pulled back from the touchpad.

“Hello there! What have we here?”

The profile name was ‘MakeMeYours.’ Twenty seven years old. Short, shaggy blonde hair, soft green eyes and well built. A former gymnast! That explained the body. Five foot ten? A little tall for a gymnast, but perfect for Cassie. That meant she could loom over him in her heels. She enjoyed looking down at her sub.

More importantly, he wasn’t a bore. His bio seemed genuine. This young man was well spoken, with a wide variety of hobbies and interests. It seemed he’d just exited his first kinky relationship. His kink section was a mile-long list of things he still wanted to try. His orientation was listed as unsure. More than anything, he wanted to please and learn.

Cassandra’s haughty expression turned soft and warm the more she read. She bit her lip as a light giddiness buzzed through her body. On a primal level, she couldn’t wait to claim and corrupt this naughty little fuck. At the same time, there was a glimmer of hope that it might lead to something more. He was exactly the combination she was looking for. Assuming her own bio didn’t scare him off, this was very promising.

Cassie hit the contact button on his profile and the messaging app popped up. She paused and looked out the window again, pondering what words would best entice him. After composing and sending the message, she’d head out for a walk.

It was an ideal day for a stroll. Gray and cloudy without the slightest ray of sunshine penetrating the gloom. An absolutely perfect day.

Kayden toweled himself off, glad to finally be free of the smells of grass and hedge clippings. The effects of a hot shower felt amazing on his sore body after six hours of landscaping. Once dry, he wrapped the towel around his waist and began inspecting himself in the mirror. He brushed his teeth while deciding if he wanted to shave his stubble or not. Unsure of what he was doing that night, he decided against it. No point if he was just loafing at home or heading to the bar to hang with his bros.

He exited the bathroom, walked a short distance down the hall, flipped his towel over the top of the door and stopped at his dresser. He pulled on his briefs, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt before picking up his phone and giving it a quick check. He slid down his notification bar and noticed an icon he’d only seen once before, when he’d signed up for the app. It was an alert from Kinksters.

‘Oh! A bite already?’

He’d only setup his profile a few days ago, so he was pleasantly surprised. Having been on other dating and hookup sites, he knew it was generally the men who did the pursuing and woman that did the replying. Now that he was explicitly looking for a Female Led Relationship, he hoped it might be a little different, but that optimism was tempered with the knowledge that dominant women were a coveted minority.

He also knew it shouldn’t be that way. It was the societal barriers, expectations and old social norms that had created the imbalance to begin with. Sociology had been one of the few courses he’d enjoyed in college, and learning about the evolution of gender roles and sexual psychology while discovering and embracing his kinky side had been eye opening.

Of course women were reluctant to embrace a dominant role after being culturally conditioned to be submissive for generations. As much as things had changed, it was still ingrained in many facets of modern society. The more those barriers and expectations were destroyed, the more women would begin to embrace their power and feel free to explore, sexually. Had one such woman contacted him? It was time to find out.

Kayden tossed the phone on his bed, moved to his desk and plopped down in his plush leather office chair. He opened his laptop and the power notebook booted up quickly. Within seconds he was pulling up his browser and logging into Kinksters. Sure enough, there was a message waiting for him. He took a deep breath and opened it.

The phone number was listed just below her handle. It was a local number. Kayden swallowed. If he’d owned a folding fan, he would’ve been waving it against his flushed face right then.

‘Dayum, she gets right to the point, doesn’t she?’

The well toned blonde had never opened a profile page so fast in his life. He drank in her bio and the long list of her preferred kinks and activities. He gawked at her first few pictures. She’d listed her orientation as ‘straight’ but left her gender as ‘not applicable.’ Not too surprising. A lot of people did that these days if they didn’t like the options they’d be given. Some did it simply as a form of protest. Her photos left no doubt that she was a woman in full bloom.

‘Holy fuck! She’s a smoke show! 10 out of 10. Lucky day, indeed!’

Kayden clicked through her full set of photos, his jaw on the floor as he scrolled through glamour shots and Femdom poses of the dark haired beauty. The gorgeous Goddess lounged in latex and stood proudly and defiantly in leather and high heeled boots. She was dominant sexual energy incarnate. Nothing surprised him until the last few photos.

“WHOOOOAAAA!!!”

They were pictures from the waist down. There was the big surprise, literally and figuratively, jutting out from her pelvis. She had a penis and it wasn’t a small one. A long, thick hog. Easily twice Kayden’s size when erect. Maybe more?

The young man ran a hand through his short, blonde locks. He hadn’t been expecting that. Kayden wasn’t turned off, necessarily, but ... wow. Bit of a shock. Was that a foolish reaction? He’d listed pegging as one of his most desired kinks. He left his orientation as ‘unsure.’ He’d said he was open to new experiences.

The comments section for each picture of her girthy appendage and wonderfully thick thighs was a nonstop chorus of men, and more than a few women, praising her flawless form and begging to be her slave. Hundreds of eager submissives desperate to find a woman just like her. And yet, she’d sought him out?

There was no way Kayden could turn her down. He’d hate himself for the rest of his life if he did. He would regret it forever if he didn’t have at least one experience with this beautiful Domme. Resolved, he swiveled around in his chair, stood and walked back to his bed. He picked up his phone and began dialing the number at once.

It rang. And rang. And rang some more. He clucked his tongue apprehensively and rolled his shoulders as he waited. His heart pounded like a drum. The ringing stopped abruptly.

“Speak” a sultry voice commanded from the other side.

A chill ran down Kayden’s spine. His legs went weak.

“Hello. This is MakeMeYours. I got your message.”

“Oh. Hello there! You didn’t make me wait long at all, did you? That’s good, but did you follow the rest of my instructions?”

Her voice was pure honey. Mana from heaven. Was it possible to fall in love over the phone?

“I did.”

“Tell me, then. Describe what you saw.”

“I read every word of a profile on Kinksters and learned about a fascinating woman. I looked at every picture she had and was entranced by her grace and beauty.”

A sinister laugh reverberated through the receiver, followed by a brief pause. “Every picture?”

“Every last one.”

“Excellent. You follow instructions well. I take it you’re ready to follow more?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you free tonight?”

“If I had plans, I would cancel them.”

An amused chuckle replied. “Do you know where the Cascadia Grill is?”

“Yeah, that’s not far from the main drag. I ate their once, years ago.”

“Best steak in Olympia” she stated confidently. “Let’s meet there at eight o’clock. The crowd should be thinned out by that point. I’ve been dying for a good steak dinner.”

“You got it. I’ll be there, Miss... ?”

“Oh, how silly of me. We haven’t even exchanged names.”

“I’m Kayden” he offered happily.

“Cassandra” she responded. “But you can call me Cassie.”

“Mistress Cassie?” he asked eagerly.

“Not yet. But we’ll see.”

The wistful notes of Samuel Barber’s Adagio For Strings flowed through the ornate study. The walls were lined with ancient books. The assortment of furniture arranged throughout the large room were all antiques, pieces from the Victorian period and beyond. Well polished hard wood fixtures that had survived the ages and been reupholstered many times in their long lives.

Sadie sat atop one such time-worn furnishing, her legs propped up on her favorite slave. She looked down at her blood-red heels. They contrasted nicely with the glossy black latex that covered Tristan’s back. He quivered slightly, having held the position for a long while as Sadie read.

She loved Adagio For Strings. The pain and longing that had produced such a masterpiece was evident. It was sadness in its purest form. Every violin and cello relayed the suffering of ages. Each viola and bass rooted in anguish. Bound as surely as her slave was in glossy black.

Sadie enjoyed donning latex and leather as well, but not today. She was dressed in one of her many scarlet outfits, accented with black. Her corset was deep, lacy red, framed on both sides with black webbing. The front of it was decorated with shimmering white crystals that led up to her full, round, breasts. They burst from its opening; enticing peach-toned mounds on full display. Her long skirt was dark crimson, bathing her legs in the delicious feeling of purest silk. When on her feet, you could scarcely see the bottom of her boots. The end of her elegant dress hovered just an inch above the floor.

An inverted, bronze cross hung from her choker necklace. A wide stretch of glossy red webbing stretched around the back of her neck, adding style and elegance to her ensemble. She looked every bit the matriarch, because that’s what she was. Fashion was the law in her order because dressing well was key to commanding respect. It was simultaneously a responsibility and a guilty pleasure that Sadie spent untold hours and vast sums of money reinforcing. She took it seriously and she made sure every member of her house did as well.

She turned the page of her book before lifting her feet from the gimp. He was splayed out on hands and knees before her, waiting patiently for Sadie’s next command. “Tristan, be a dear and fetch me a CC. The thirst encroaches.”

He half-grunted as he stood, his aging limbs creaking after holding the position for so long. His glossy, black form bowed to her. The piercing blue eyes gazing out of the holes in his hood were the only distinguishing feature in his full-body fetish-wear. “Right away, Mistress.”

Tristan shuffled off and Sadie watched him go. He was so much slower now. Weaker. But that was to be expected. He was bordering on “old man” status at this point, and there was no going back. All the more reason to keep him in leather and latex at all times. It kept him appealing to the eye when she ravished him.

The song ended and another classical masterwork began as the gimp returned. He handed the clear, plastic sleeve filled with ruby-red fluid down to Sadie and she set her book aside. She grabbed it from him like a starving woman, ripped the cap off the top and began sucking it down. The thick, red liquid siphoned into her mouth rapidly. She sucked it dry and the plastic packaging collapsed like a perverse Capris Sun.

Refrigerated plasma. A cold carmine as her kind had nicknamed them. Not what any of them preferred, but they lived with it, because that was price of thriving in their new arrangement. Sure, they drank the warm nectar of life when they could. Without it, this existence was hollow and sad. A pale imitation of what it should be.

They no longer harvested the mundane on a whim. Imprudent feeding on the sheep caused too many problems for the wolves these days. Now, they were discrete. Disciplined. Sadie had seen to that. And any member of their society who violated that principle was dealt with harshly.

The thick, sucking sounds turned to popping air bubbles. Sadie tossed the empty plastic aside. She reached for her book and her gaze returned to her slave. She was ready to order him back into position, but Tristan’s eyes gave her pause. They seemed infinitely sad, and not just from the beautiful music.

“Why do you look so miserable, darling?”

He swallowed. “Because, Mistress. I wish that had been me.” He nodded to the empty container.

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Tristan, we’ve had this conversation before. Your next turn is likely to be your last. You’ve gone through too many cycles.”

“I know that. I just ... I miss it so much. I want to be strong again. To drink the essence of life again. Frailty is tiring, my love. It grinds on you. You wouldn’t know, because...” He lifted a hand, indicating her flawless form.

Sadie sighed and set her book aside again. She stood and strolled to her favorite submissive slut. He who’d been with her the longest. She stretched out her hands and surrounded him, pulling his hooded face close to her bosom. She massaged his back and sides gently, her hands caressing his latex form. Sadie spoke directly into his left ear.

“Tristan ... You will endure this for me. You want your last time to be meaningful, don’t you? When I have use for you? To be my champion, one last time?”

He exhaled deeply, the pain and frustration of age exiting with it. He steeled himself, emboldened by her words and her loving touch. “Yes, Mistress. Of course. I’m sorry for bringing it up. A moment of weakness for which I should be punished.”

She grabbed the back of his hood and pulled his face from her chest. “I’ll decide when you should be punished. Now, instead of grumbling about your state, put that mouth of yours to good use.”

Warm blood had the greatest effect, but even cold plasma made her horny. Irresistibly so. It worked that way for all her sisters. Sadie pressed him down and Tristan knelt before her. She hiked up the long skirt of her dress and tossed it over the top of his head. His gimp form disappeared below her crimson curtain.

Sadie moaned as she felt his warm mouth press onto her fat length. He enveloped her with eager lips, her glans finding the back of his velvety throat in record time. He sucked and slurped away, working his face back and forth as her hot flesh filled his mouth and beyond. Sadie let out a second, louder moan, resting her hands on her hips as her head tilted backward.

‘Great... ‘ she thought to herself as another one of their marathon sessions began. ‘There goes the afternoon.’

“How long are we gonna just sit out here?!?” the feisty young Latina piped up.

“Until we notice something useful or find someone to tail” Reynauld answered calmly before taking a sip of his coffee.

Their rented car had been parked outside the compound for thirty minutes and they’d seen nothing of note, so far. Patience was not a virtue his partner of circumstance had in great abundance, but it was important she learn that tedium was part of the job. Hunting monsters was ninety eight percent research and surveillance. Time spent in libraries, hotels, vehicles and hiding spots. Only the other two percent was violence and that was for the best.

Reynauld knew it better than most as the survivor of more than a few close calls. The scar trailing from his upper left forehead across his nose and down to his lower right cheek was evidence of that. The occasional streaks of white in his stubble had only recently bestowed him with the ‘salt and pepper’ look as he entered middle age.

His reserved demeanor and the slow cadence of his gravelly voice projected the relaxed tenor of a man who was never in a hurry, unless he needed to be. The khaki trench coat and army-green cargo pants spoke of an individual who dressed for utility.

Rosa, by contrast, was fresh faced and energetic. He didn’t know much about her, but she couldn’t be much older than her late twenties. A pretty young woman; her thick, dark hair was pulled back in an elegant pony tail and her brown eyes shimmered with warmth. Reynauld’s own steely, light blue orbs traced her slim form up and down, studying their organization’s newest acolyte. She was quite the looker in her black jeans, short, red leather jacket and tight white t-shirt.

“And what makes you so sure they’re here?”

“I’m not sure” he retorted, reaching up to the dashboard. He opened a manila folder and pulled out a flyer, handing it to her. “But this is a pretty good lead.”

Rosa took the small poster and studied it briefly. It showed men in tuxedos, women in elegant dresses and others in leather and latex fetish attire. Several submissive male forms were in bondage and one woman in deepest red stood defiantly, mouth open and blood dripping from her teeth.