The Mirror Made Me Do It, Part 5

Smoke and Mirrors

*

Red slept surprisingly well. She awoke refreshed, her apartment slowly filling with morning light, and stretched languorously as she enjoyed the feel of the silken sheet against her bare skin.

The mirror above her large bed immediately caught her gaze, the memories of the day before crashing in: all the things she’d done, or been made to do; exposing herself to all the men who had visited, being touched by Anne, bound and left for Alfie to use as he wished.

A kaleidoscope of memories, nearly all of which were carnal in nature. And the pleasure she’d felt! As she thought back over what had happened, one hand trailed lightly across her breast while the other slipped between her thighs. She knew she was being controlled by Anne and the mirrors, knew that much of what had happened would never have occurred if she’d been free to make her own decisions.

Yet as her fingers played across her body, she could find nothing wrong with what had transpired. Was that, too, the effect of the mirrors, or merely her own sexual awakening? What harm had been done? Yes, her ass was still quite sore – a delightful tingle that added spice to the arousal her fingers were building – but she remembered vividly the heights of pleasure she’d experienced. Alfie, too, had taken his share, and had not seemed disappointed when he’d left.

She spread her legs wider, arching her back as her fingers teased her nipple, remembering the look on the men’s faces as they’d gazed at her near-nudity. How exciting it had been! Twirling, her kimono gaping, before the UPS man, as his eyes roamed over her. She’d known he wanted to touch her. They’d all wanted to touch her. All those men in her apartment… her imagination explored ideas of what they might have done to her, and she moaned her arousal in the quiet of her room.

Her fingers played against her sex, rubbing, teasing, flicking over her clit. She remembered Alfie’s hands on her breasts, cruelly twisting and pulling her nipples, and her own fingers pinched her nipple as she moaned again. She remembered his delight at the mirrors in her room and opened her eyes, looking up at her own reflection. The sheet obscured her nudity, and it had no place. She kicked it off, naked now to her own gaze, knowing in that moment that there was a chance Anne was watching, possibly looking on as Red leisurely pushed a finger inside herself then slid it up over her clit.

It was difficult to keep her eyes open as her arousal built, but she imagined the foreman who had come with his men standing before her, his easy grin and confident manner compelling her to hold his gaze. How much had he seen as she’d knelt on the floor, the kimono covering little with her knees spread wide? Oh, how she’d longed to crawl to him and beg to please him with her mouth, how she longed now for the taste of more cum. How it filled her mouth with its addictive, salty creaminess, how she’d eagerly licked Alfie clean when he’d told her to.

On impulse she raised her slick fingers to her mouth, tasting herself. She would never have considered doing such a thing before her sexual awakening, but now it felt so right. She sucked her fingers clean as she remembered the taste of Alfie, of Steven, even of the shopkeeper who had inadvertently been the first. She knew her desperate addiction to the taste of a man’s cum was something the mirror had given to her, but she found it so satisfying, so fulfilling, that she could only see it as a gift.

Red brought her hand back between her legs and moaned softly, her eyes closing as she lost herself in the pleasures of her touch and the memories of the day before. She was, after, all, such a sensual creature…

*

It was shortly after nine by the time Red finished her shower. The water had initially stung, then soothed her poor abused bottom. She’d stood under the spray for a long while, soaping up her body, washing her hair. She’d even shaved again, even though it had hardly been necessary; she simply loved the smoothness of her skin – just as the mirror had shown her. She’d dried herself unhurriedly, enjoying each sensation: the feeling of the soft towel on her skin or the warm air from her hair dryer. She didn’t even like drying her hair, yet this morning her body felt more awake, more sensitive, and every touch was more sensuous.

She walked nude from the ensuite and back into her bedroom. Ahead of her lay her bed, the sheets still crumpled from where she’d lain within them, from where Alfie had taken her. Her kimono lay draped over the chair beside the small table, set towards, but someway back, from the foot of her bed. She was about to collect it, to put it on, but her eye caught her reflection in the mirrors about her. Two large mirrors covering the entirety of her wall this side of the bed, two opposite on the far side of her bed, angled to reflect across the room. And beneath each of them another mirror, angled such that she could see into the one directly above her bed whenever she lay down.

She stopped in the space between her bed and the ensuite, the mirrors nearest framing her perfectly. She spread her legs slightly and lifted her arms loosely about her head, watching herself in her reflection as she swayed gently, as though dancing to music only she could hear. Her eyes moved down across her body: her breasts, topped by firm, pink nipples; the smooth softness of her belly; the ‘v’ of her womanhood and the smooth folds at the juncture of her thighs.

She looked good, she knew. Let Anne watch, if she wants to watch. Perhaps she liked to be watched. She remembered the eyes of the UPS man on her, and the thrill it had given her.

It was tempting to stay nude, but Red collected her kimono and slipped it on with a wistful smile, tying the sash about her waist. Sometimes it was better to be teasingly revealing than fully nude, and she remembered the expression of the delivery man who had brought her food the night before. Oh, that had been fun. No deliveries due today – more was the pity – but the silk against her skin was another pleasure to be enjoyed.

She made her way to the kitchen. It was all-but empty – perhaps a delivery could be arranged after all – and though there was no breakfast, she could at least make some coffee.

A knock sounded at her door.

She turned, startled; usually the concierge would call to gain permission for a guest. Perhaps it was her father? No, he was still in Malibu – he couldn’t have made it back so fast, even if he had ignored her wishes and come anyway. She crossed the apartment and opened the door.

“Good morning, Red.” Anne stood at the threshold, and she was not alone. Slightly behind her stood an imposing man well over six foot tall and broad in arm and shoulder. He was perhaps a little older than Red and was striking rather than handsome; his hair was dark and long, his eyes a piercing dark blue above a strong nose and chin, and he emanated a presence that drew Red’s eyes. “Do invite us in.”

“Please come in,” Red replied, stepping back nervously, opening the door as she did so. She’d expected Anne to arrive at some point, but so soon? And with a man such as this? Her confidence of but a moment prior had evaporated.

Anne walked past her into the apartment, but it was the man who commanded Red’s attention.

“Delightful to see you wearing your kimono again, my dear.” Red pulled her eyes from the man with an effort, closing the door behind them both. “And I don’t need to ask if you enjoyed your evening. It was quite the spectacle.”

Red took a steadying breath and turned to face Anne. “I know what you’re doing to me. I remember everything. I know… what you’ve done…” she trailed off, the declaration lacking the defiance she’d been trying to project.

“Oh, good!” Anne seemed genuinely pleased. “I do so hate it when girls stay oblivious. It rather spoils the fun. But you always were a perceptive one, weren’t you dear?”

The man had stopped quite close to Red and was watching her with what seemed to be curiosity.

“Do excuse me. Introductions. This is… well, you can call him Damian.”

The man took a graceful step forward, taking Red’s hand in his before she could react. He bowed over it, brushing his lips across her knuckles, though his eyes never left hers and his smile was playful. “Names are such transient things,” he said, his breath warm on her hand, and his voice was as deep as Red had ever heard. She felt a shiver run across her skin. He straightened slowly, holding her hand as he did so, only releasing it after a long moment.

Anne watched, amusement on her face. “And this is Red. Though she seems to have momentarily lost her voice.”

“Such a delightful robe,” Damian murmured, and his voice seemed to reverberate around the apartment.

“Isn’t it though?” Anne added, “It’s all she seems to wear these days.”

Red glanced at her in alarm. Had that been a pithy off-hand comment or an instruction? Would she suddenly find herself unable to get dressed in anything else?

Anne leant back against Red’s sofa, seemingly content to watch. “Would you like to display it for us, dear?”

Red chewed her bottom lip nervously. That hadn’t sounded like an instruction either, yet part of her wished to model for this man. She wasn’t sure what to do; Anne hadn’t explicitly instructed her to bend over, as she had the day before. She took a hesitant step and then another, moving away from the man Anne had called Damian, conscious of his eyes upon her.

“It’s a little tight on her,” came the man’s voice behind her, and Red blushed at his words.

“Oh, it loosens up surprisingly quickly,” Anne replied. Her lips quirked, “As does Red, for that matter.”

Red felt her blush deepen and her steps falter. As usual with the arrival of Anne, things had rapidly slipped out of control; they’d been in her apartment a scarce minute, and already Red felt unnerved in her own home.

Anne pushed herself off from the sofa, taking a step toward her. “Stand still a moment,” and Red could only watch, unable to move, as Anne slipped her fingers inside the kimono’s sash and gave it a small tug, slackening it. Red felt the silk slip immediately, the overlapping material sliding open, revealing far more skin than it had before.

“What if I don’t want to model for this man?” Red whispered to Anne, her voice kept low. She wondered why she was trusting Anne with such a question, for surely that was foolish; she knew now that Anne was not her friend. And yet, despite that, whenever she was near she felt a need to trust her. She couldn’t help herself. Damn Anne’s magic!

Behind her Damian chuckled lightly; clearly he had heard Red’s entreaty.

Anne smiled, also amused. “Look at him, dear.”

Red reluctantly turned her gaze to Damian, seeing again his distinctive features, the flawlessness of his skin, the confidence of his demeanour, and felt herself irresistibly drawn to him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to model for him? Tell me.”

Anne’s imperative forced an unwilling reply from Red, as it had every time – though, at least, Red was now able to realise when Anne was controlling her. But still she was unable to prevent herself replying. “I do.” She chewed her lip nervously. There was something undeniably appealing about the man Anne had called Damian, and the thought of his eyes on her as she modelled for him excited her and made her stomach squirm. It could’ve been her reaction, it could’ve been Anne’s influence, it could’ve been the man himself… Red only knew how she felt, and that there was little point questioning it anymore.

“Well then. A lot of fuss about nothing.” Anne stepped back to the sofa, leaning against it casually as she watched.

Red kept her back to Damian. It was not merely that Anne had opened her robe further, making it almost an invitation, but that his very presence made her nervous. There was something about him that made her skin tingle. He was attractive, though it was more the force of his persona that made him so rather than a classical handsomeness. He had charisma, Red thought, but not in the way of merely being smooth. More in the way of emanating a presence. He could probably walk into any room and everyone would immediately know he was there.

So why was he here?

“Come now, dear, we’re both waiting.” Red really wished Anne would stop calling her ‘dear’. She knew it was simply Anne’s way of speaking, but it was beginning to aggravate Red the way Anne would casually use it and then, when she wished to, give it just that extra little edge. An emphasis. As though she was chiding, as though Red was her possession. She didn’t want to be Anne’s possession any longer.

Red took a steadying breath, her chin coming up slightly. She suddenly felt rebellious; they’d invited themselves into her apartment and now expected Red to perform? It was an imitation of what Anne had made her do for the UPS man, and Red wasn’t having it this time. It was time to make a stand.

Her hands fell to the sash about her waist, beginning to tighten it, to revert the changes Anne had made and close her kimono. To her surprise her fingers obeyed, but Anne hadn’t told her not to, on this visit.

“Tut tut. That’s hardly the right attitude,” Anne’s tone seemed piqued, and her lips pursed as Red continued to re-close her robe. “Oh do stop, dear.”

Red’s hands stilled against the material, and she could not make her fingers move again. She closed her eyes in resignation. How could she resist when Anne could compel her so?

“You’ve just told us both that you want this. Stop fighting it, it’s so tiresome. Now, make your kimono presentable, in the way I know you want to.”

Red’s brow furrowed as her hands began to move again. Hadn’t Anne just given her permission to cover herself? She thought on Anne’s words, seeing no trick: “in the way I know you want to”. She wanted to cover herself. Had Anne made a mistake? And yet, to her dismay, her hands weren’t closing the robes, but parting them. Why?! She’d wanted to resist! Hadn’t she? Didn’t she?

Anne smiled, watching. “I thought as much. Such a sensual creature you are.”

Red’s eyes closed in despair as her hands continued to pull apart the robe, loosen the sash and reveal more of her body. She wasn’t even in her bedroom, and she was still being a ‘sensual creature’. It seemed she needed to fight her own body, too – or the hidden subconscious of her mind. But whichever it was, one of them wished to reveal more of herself to the man who patiently waited behind her. Just like I did for the delivery man last night.

"The mirror shows only what is already inside you, is that not true?" She remembered Anne’s words from the day before, and though this wasn’t the mirror, per se, she saw the truth in what Anne had said: at some level this was who Red was, and though she may deny it to herself, it didn’t change the truth. Evidently the mirror – and Anne’s compulsion – could see through Red’s attempts to deceive herself.

And now the kimono was open even more than Anne had adjusted it: Red’s own fingers had pulled back the material until the sides of her breasts were showing, her nipples barely covered, and while the folds overlapped briefly beneath the sash, below they gaped again, and Red wondered if her mons could now be glimpsed. What had her fingers done? Only what you wished them to, she answered herself.

“I think that should do the trick.” Anne smiled in amusement from where she watched. “Now, as you clearly need a firm hand, listen closely. Raise your arms gently and loosely about your head, then turn around very slowly. You won’t need to lower your arms.” Red’s hands were already rising, the kimono lifting as they did, but Anne wasn’t finished. “Present yourself to your guest in a way that makes clear your desires.”

“No…” whispered Red in horror, even as her hands continued to raise.

“I’m helping you, dear. Can’t you see? What you want, and what you tell yourself you want, are clearly two different things. You’re lying to yourself, while I’m showing you the truth.”

Red had no comeback to that and meanwhile her hands were now draped loosely about her head, her fingers brushing over her hair. She knew that the robe would now barely cover the bottom of her ass, if at all, while at the front where her fingers had made that gap… she dared not consider.

“Why don’t you just make me strip?” Red asked sullenly; it seemed she still had control of her voice.

“Oh no, dear. The presentation of the gift is as important as the gift itself.”

So that’s what I am, Red thought as she began to turn. She knew that the kimono now revealed almost as much as it concealed, her gradual turn only serving to make her display more tantalising for Damian. Each move she made merely unveiled more of her to his eyes.

Her nipples were hard, jutting against the silk of her kimono, and in a moment he would see. She was aroused despite herself, and in a moment he would know. She felt a blush tinge her cheeks and her eyes lowered; she could not bear the shame as she continued to rotate. It was as if she was offering herself to him and she knew that, in essence, she was.

She turned more, now in profile to where Damian was standing, and she knew he would easily be able to see one bare breast, the silk gaping over it with her arms raised so, the nipple standing proud for his eyes to witness. She turned further, chewing her lip nervously, and now he would be able to see the tops of her thighs. Was her mound covered, or was she offering him a delicate glimpse of her cleft?

“Your ass seems a little… red, Red,” Anne noted from behind her.

“Mmm, I observed that,” Damian added, amusement in his tone. “She’s already been used, this one.”

Red closed her eyes in shame: the first time Damian had spoken since entering her apartment, and he draws attention to the marks on her ass. How could she have forgotten the stripes Alfie had left? Of course they hadn’t faded. And more, the kimono had obviously lifted far enough for them to show, which meant it was even higher than she thought.

“Will that stop your enjoyment of her?” Anne asked, and Red thought she heard a note of concern in her tone.

“No; perhaps with another,” Damian replied, his deep voice seeming to caress Red’s skin. “But this one still carries a sense of innocence that will be fun to… despoil.”

“Good,” Anne seemed relieved.

Red faced him fully now, though she had not looked upon him and her eyes were downcast. She tried to lower her arms, to allow the kimono to fall, but she could not; clearly Anne’s command was still in effect. Then her chin came up of her own volition, her eyes lifted to meet Damian’s, her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips and her back arched subtly. What was she doing? She was offering herself so wantonly! She was making it worse! Her back arched more, lifting her breasts towards him as her feet moved slightly apart, as if to better display herself to his gaze.

“Do you see what I mean?” Damian asked, and his question was clearly posed to Anne, though his gaze held Red’s. “I’ve seen girls throw themselves at my feet, or tear their clothes off themselves. You tell her to present herself, and all this one does is arch her back.” He chuckled at his own words, then slowly approached Red.

“You lick your lips, girl. Is it a kiss you seek?”

Red watched him come closer, and the breath caught in her throat. She could only nod slightly, unable to trust her voice. Oh, but she did want him to kiss her. Just a simple kiss. What could be the harm in that?

He was so much larger than her, his size imposing. As he stepped into her, closing the gap, she had to lift her chin to keep her eyes on his. She felt one arm slide around her waist and she was tugged firmly against his chest, even as his lips came down to meet hers.

His kiss was unlike any she’d had before; his mouth ruled her, dominated her, and his tongue pushed insistently between her lips, seeking hers. Yet it was a controlled kiss, not with the uncouth invasion she might have expected from Alfie (who, she remembered, hadn’t actually kissed her), but more like the confidence that Steven showed – and yet it was so much more. It was passion, it was refinement, it was a kiss that sent tremors through her whole body and left her breathless. It was a kiss to lose oneself in, and as he finally broke away she realised, for a moment, that she had.

She was unsteady on her feet, and only his arm around her supported her. Then, as she caught her balance, he withdrew that too and took a small step back.

Red was suddenly aware her kimono was fully open. At some point during the kiss his fingers had slipped into the sash and pulled it free, and she hadn’t even noticed. It slipped to either side of her, and her body was bare to his eyes.

Anne softly cleared her throat behind Red. “I think we should take this to Red's bedroom.”

Red looked at her in alarm, “No, please, it makes me...”

“Yes?” Anne looked at her expectantly.

“...want to do things.” Red finished, her voice small.

“Of course it does, dear. But don't you want to do them anyway?”

“No, I…”

“Don’t lie, girl. Tell us both what you actually desire.” Anne’s voice held the tone that Red now knew well, and recognised the compulsion Anne was using. Yet she was still unable to resist.

“Yes! Yes, I do want to do those things!” Red moaned in shame, covering her face with her hands.

“It’s so amusing how reserved and reticent humans have become,” Damian murmured. “Such a conflict within each of them, as their nature fights against the oppression of societal expectation. I really quite like it.”

“Not in all of them,” Anne contended. “Some are loud in their denials of their own needs – and the needs of others.”

“Ah,” Damian replied, “but it is those that I like the best. They have further to fall.”

“True,” Anne conceded, “but their whining aggravates me.”

Damian chuckled his deep laugh. “Touché.”

Red had not well followed the exchange, momentarily lost in the depth of her own emotional response. She lifted her eyes to Anne, seeking guidance.

“Walk into the bedroom, dear.”

Red turned and made her way to the bedroom, seeing herself near-nude in the mirrors as she approached. As she stepped through the archway her hands pulled the kimono instinctively closed about herself, and her chin came up again. Enough was enough: she would resist; she was not their toy to play with.

She was aware of Anne and Damian entering behind her. Anne moved to one side, seating herself in the chair beside the small table, but it was Damian’s reflection that captured her gaze, and she gasped in shock.

The mirror showed a different Damian to the one she had yet seen: his features were the same, his size, his general demeanour, but in the mirror he had horns. Two long, sharply-pointed protuberances came up from the front of his head, curving slightly and spiralling upwards like a markhor goat. Quickly she glanced in another mirror, thinking it somehow a trick of the light, but this showed the same – and moreover she caught a glimpse of his long, thick tail swaying gently behind him.

She turned to face him, backing away slowly, pulling the robe about her with both fists. He looked now as he had before, only with a slightly puzzled expression as he watched her. Red glanced at the mirror that was angled to show his back and side, and again his horns and tail were obvious.

“What are you?”

Damian stopped and turned to Anne in surprise. “Can she see me?”

Anne frowned. “The mirror must be showing her.”

“Hmph,” he grunted. “I’ve not known it do that before.”

“No…” Anne sounded thoughtful. “But I assume it makes no difference?”

“I suppose not,” Damian said as he turned his gaze back to Red. “Come, girl, remove your robe now.”

“Fuck off and die, you’re not touching me,” Red spat at him, clutching her robe tighter around him as she edged backwards.

Damian looked taken aback by her sudden venom, “Why so reluctant all of a sudden? You were eager enough a moment ago.”

“Oh, that’s my doing,” Anne said from where she sat on Red’s bedroom chair. “I added in a little… spice to the initial bedroom encounter. I thought you would enjoy it.”

His gaze turned back to Red. “So this… is a game?”

“Precisely that,” Anne replied, while Red shook her head.

He smiled slowly and took a step closer to Red. “Do you want to play, girl?”

“No. I do not want to play. I want you to leave. Both of you to leave.”

Again Damian stopped, turning to Anne. “This isn’t my style, witch. I’m of Asmodeus’ line, not Azazel or Belial.” Red didn’t understand his words but was surprised at his tone: it lacked the casual indifference he usually used and carried far more bite. She didn’t envy Anne in that moment.

Anne sighed in frustration. “Red, for today only you will ignore all compulsions associated with this room, and respond only as you naturally desire.”

Red straightened slowly, feeling her racing pulse settle, but she still held her robe closed protectively around her nakedness. “What are you?” she asked again.

“I’m a demon, girl, in human form. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

Red nodded, her eyes wide. “The mirror showed me… and then the things you said.” She chewed her lip nervously. “What does ‘of Asmodeus’ line’ mean?”

He smiled slowly, “It means I am born of temptation and seduction.”

Well that made sense. But surely he was speaking figuratively… could he really be a demon? It was too impossible to accept. “And Moloch? Bezel…”

“Beelzebub.” He shrugged, “They are known for deception, torment, and destruction. For forcing themselves upon others,” his tone carried distaste. “I was merely making a point to the witch.”

Red looked over at Anne. “Why does he call you a ‘witch’? What are you?”

Anne pursed her lips. “Let’s not get distracted, dear.”

“Answer her,” Damian didn’t take his gaze from Red, but his comment was clearly for Anne.

Anne glanced at Damian before looking back at Red, her smile strained. “As human as you are, dear. Perhaps a little older.”

Damian chuckled, “An understatement.”

Anne shifted impatiently. “Can we get back to the business at hand?”

Damian smiled at Red, a charismatic, infectious smile that ameliorated the words that followed. “By that she means she wants us to fuck.”

“I know,” Red said, trying to ignore Anne as she focused on the demon before her. She still held the robe tightly around her. She was confused, discombobulated. The mood they’d briefly shared had been lost, and now she was simply expected to lie down and spread her legs? And Damian himself… she wouldn’t have been averse, under normal circumstances, but with Anne here? She swallowed nervously, her eyes drawn to him despite herself.

He took a small step closer, “Have you ever had an audience before?”

Red kept her eyes on his face, trying to ignore Anne. Was he really a demon? He seemed so… amiable. Kind, even. Seductive, almost… no, not almost. His allure was irresistible, captivating… what was it about him? It was more than his persona – a finely-crafted blend of confidence, appeal and sensuality that drew her in with an almost hypnotic charm – every gesture, every word, every glance seemed calculated to tantalise her senses and awaken her desires.

He had a self-assured grace and was clearly aware of the effect he caused. He commanded her attention rather than demanded it; she was drawn willingly, entranced. There was undoubtedly a seductive appeal about him, igniting a desire within her to be held in his arms, where his essence could intimately caress her.

She shook her head, trying to dispel his effect on her. ‘His essence could intimately caress her’? What on earth was she thinking! But then… he wasn’t from earth, was he? Temptation and seduction indeed, and, incredibly, she found herself believing he could even be a demon. After all, the mirror had shown her, and she’d never known it lie.

She realised he’d asked her a question and she’d been so distracted by his very presence that she’d forgotten to answer. His eyes were on her, amused, as if he knew the effect he was having on her - but of course he did. She felt her cheeks heat as she struggled to remember what he’d asked.

“No I haven’t,” she said, her voice barely above a murmur. “Well… not directly.”

“Not directly…?” he took another step, and now he was almost in touching range.

“I know Anne watches,” Red whispered, her eyes held helplessly by his.

“Mmm,” and it was so deep it was almost a purr, yet conveyed amusement too. “She likes to watch.” It was a reminder that Anne was there, though Red cared not; Damian had her in his spell, and nothing else mattered. She didn’t even spare Anne a glance; her eyes never left his. Another step toward her and his hand slowly came up, his palm gently making contact with her cheek.

His hand was large but soft, firm and warm against her face. It felt comforting yet possessive, and she chewed on her lip nervously even as she pushed instinctively into his touch.

“Are you afraid of me?” His voice was so deep yet so mellow, and it rolled over her like a warm caress.

“Yes,” she admitted on a breath. There was something about his power over her that was scary, as if she was at risk of losing herself in him.

“That is wise,” he replied, and stooped to lower his mouth to hers. Red lost herself in his kiss as she had earlier when he had kissed her in the living room. At first it was the feel of his lips against hers, then both his hands came up to cup her face. His tongue sought entrance and she opened to him with a moan. His hands slipped down around her neck, firm but gentle, his thumb rubbing across the gentle depression nestled between her collarbones. It was a subtle emphasis of her vulnerability, a touch of intimacy that conveyed both tactile and emotional significance, and again it felt possessive.

She shivered under his lips and hands feeling herself lost in the adeptness of his seduction, and she didn’t resist even when he slid his fingers beneath the collar of her kimono and gently pushed out across her shoulders. She trembled as he gradually bared her skin, his mouth continuing to explore her own, until the robe fell from her shoulders to catch in the crook of her arms, and it was only then that she realised she was no longer holding her garment closed, but had instead pressed her hands to his chest. Was it to push him away, or to feel the firm muscles beneath his thin shirt? She couldn’t remember, only that now the thought of pushing him away made no sense. She wanted him to keep kissing her, wanted him to bare her more to his hands and eyes; the kimono was in the way; why wasn’t she already naked with him? She suddenly realised Anne had removed all the compulsions that affected her in her bedroom, so her desires were entirely her own… unless Damian was somehow influencing her too.

Oh, was she ever again to be allowed to be just herself, free to respond as she wished, without the effect of some external force? Yet perhaps she was perfectly free, even now, and it was her own desires that drove her.

His hands trailed down her arms to her wrists, his fingers closing around them as he slowly pulled her wrists down and around behind her back; the kimono fell further, no longer supported by her arms, and now she was nude down to her waist where the material bunched, caught on her wrists… but open, too – no sash to hold it – and all of her was revealed to him, did he but care to look. She knew herself held in his grasp and it only added to her sense of vulnerability, and still his tongue gently explored her mouth, entwining around hers, her held helplessness only adding to the heady intimacy.

He pulled her firmly against him and her naked breasts were pressed to his shirt, the hardness of his chest beneath. She had to arch her back to lift her mouth to his, and his kiss took on a more passionate note as he thrust his tongue dominantly against hers. Red whimpered, unresisting and almost unaware as he freed the silk material from one wrist then the other, the kimono dropping to the floor at her feet.

At last he broke the kiss, still holding her by her wrists in the small of her back, her body pushed against his, his strong fingers splaying down across the top of her ass. “Do you trust me?” it was a quiet murmur between intimate lovers, and there was only one answer.

“Yes.”

He smiled slowly, “Not so wise.”

Quickly he pulled her hands around to the front of her body and she felt soft rope wrapped around both wrists. Where had he got that from? She was sure he hadn’t held it a moment before… and in the time it took her to have that thought, her wrists were held, bound, infinitely more secure than the amateurish knot Alfie had tied. There was no comparison… no comparison between their respective bondage; no comparison between the two men. The one was only a pale shadow of the other.

Red felt her breath catch in her throat, her vulnerability suddenly emphasised. She was nude before him, held, but moreover she was fully aroused merely by his kisses, helpless before his strength and power, and unresisting before his will.

Was this even the mirror, or Anne’s effect? No… Anne had removed the compulsions. This was purely her response to him. This was entirely his doing, and Anne and the mirrors were forgotten; they had no place here.

He lifted her bound wrists high above her head so that her nude body was taut and stretched. He was so much stronger than her, and she was forced to rise to her toes. He walked her backwards, to the middle of the space between her bed and the door to her ensuite, a single large hand encompassing both bound wrists while his other lay firmly on her hip, holding her, supporting her, as he moved her where he wished her. Then his hand left her hip and was reaching up above her; a mechanical whine from near the wall to one side, and she felt metal brush briefly again the skin of her wrists. He released both hands and she was held, her wrists secured… the suspension hook! Why would he…? But it had all happened so fast. He’d done it in mere moments, and she’d had no chance to resist… as if that had ever been an option.

“Tell me, Red… have you experienced pain?” He was turning to the small table, brushing his fingers over the items there. Just beyond, Anne sat watching, a smile on her face.

Red swallowed as she heard his question. What could he mean? Aside from the obvious… and that was too obvious. She pulled ineffectually against the hook, but it held her wrists so high that she was balanced only on her toes and could garner no leverage. She was totally and completely helpless, and he’d just asked if she’d experienced pain.

He turned to her then, a small smile on his face, and unlike Anne’s his was playful, charming. How anyone could be so charming after such a question… “But of course you have, the marks on your quite delicious ass are testimony. Perhaps I should have asked a different question: do you enjoy pain?”

He picked up the flogger, drawing her eyes. Its handle was bound in a dark-brown leather, and two-dozen long suede strands dangled towards the floor.

“I… I… don’t like pain,” she twisted against the hook, serving merely to rotate her body a fraction; she lacked the purchase for more.

“Are you sure?” he took a deliberate step towards her, the flogger in his hand. Alfie would have swished it menacingly, she knew – a spontaneous thought that was most absurd in the moment – yet perhaps relevant, too, for Damian was far more efficient, far more… purposeful in all that he did.

“I’m sure,” Red eyed the flogger again, feeling her heart beating fast, “Please…”

He ignored her pleading. “It was the riding crop, I assume?” he gestured with the end of the flogger to the table where the crop lay.

“Yes,” her response was swift, for she felt an overwhelming urge to avoid offending in any way.

“And you didn’t like it at all?” his eyebrows were raised as if in polite disbelief.

Red hesitated. Had she liked it? It had hurt… her ass still smarted a day later, and the anger-fuelled strikes across both cheeks had stung like hell. Yet… there had been a harsh dominance in it, an unrefined expression of power that had fuelled her submission, which in turn had aroused her. Helped too by the position she’d been in, bound, her bottom raised and proffered. But the pain had been the catalyst, not the cause.

“No, I didn’t,” her response was carefully muted; she had no wish to anger a man holding a flogger before her bound, nude, and helpless body.

He began to idly turn the flogger handle in his hand, causing the strands to slowly windmill. “Pain can be a complicated thing,” he said, and she had to focus on his words, such was the distraction of the flogger and her predicament. “Often it isn’t the initial application that affects us so, but what comes after.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” Red begged, watching the flogger with wide eyes.

He smiled slowly, “My girl, I have no intention of hurting you. Let’s just call this… stimulation.”

He let the tips of the flogger’s whirling strands caress Red’s breast, striking across her nipple and down and across one side.

She cried out in reflex, twitching helpless against the rope, anticipating a pain far greater than the mildly stinging sensation he had actually caused. To be sure, her breast felt a prickly smart, but even that was now fading. It vaguely reminded her of an acupuncture experience she’d once had, if two-dozen needles had been used at once. She flushed with the shame of her excessive response.

“Did that hurt?” he asked solicitously, idly spinning the flogger.

“No…” and it hadn’t; not really. Well within her pain tolerances… which she feared were about to be tested. She eyed him warily, extremely aware of the sudden sensitivity of her breast where the strands had struck.

“Shall we try again?”

“No, thank you.”

He chuckled, letting the flogger drop down, and turned and placed it back on the table. She watched him in surprise, and even Anne looked puzzled. Instead he picked up the gag, and approached her with it.

“It seems your ability to speak is a distraction for you. I want you to be able to focus on the experience. Open.”

She shook her head, eyeing him apprehensively, keeping her lips firmly together.

He reached out and brushed the back of one hand gently over her sensitised breast, and she hissed at the touch. “Open.”

Again she shook her head, chewing nervously on her lower lip.

He smiled slowly, clearly enjoying himself, and turned his hand to grasp her nipple gently but firmly between finger and thumb. “Open?”

“Nhh nhh,” Red murmured, sealing her lips, shaking her head, her eyes wide. At some level she knew the end result was inevitable, but she was so caught up in the moment that she spared no thought for what lay ahead.

He pinched her nipple, pulling it outward a little, her breast stretching, and Red whimpered. “You’re going to open,” he said, twisting the nipple back and forth between his fingertips. “Partly because you won’t wish further escalation, but mostly because you want me to be pleased.”

Red shivered at his words. He was right, damn him. Oh, it was easy to deny him access for now, but she did want to please him. She still didn’t know if that was his effect, the mirrors, or Anne’s compulsion – or whether it was her own response to him. And perhaps not knowing was the worst thing. But she couldn’t deny her response to him, the way he compelled her submission, the sheer animal magnetism of his sensual, seductive nature. Fuck it, but she would do what he wished, she knew that now, and damn him for his arrogant, confident, sensually-charged and irresistible charm.

She opened her mouth.

He met her reaction with a grin. “I love that fire in your eyes.” He touched the ball gag to her lips then pushed it into her mouth. Red felt her jaw prised open awkwardly by its presence and glared at him again, her humiliation and discomfort warring with her submission. His grin widened.

It took him but a moment to fasten the strap around Red’s head, over her maroon hair. “Now, where were we?”

He returned to the table and picked up the flogger once more, and now Red could not voice her protests. He was going to do what he wanted with her, and Anne was going to enjoy her ring-side seat. Red felt both her pulse and her arousal raise in anticipation.

Damian walked around her slowly, the flogger idly swaying in one hand; she followed him in the mirrors’ reflections. “You really are quite a picture. And I think you’re ready to behave.” She was, she really was. To do anything else in this situation was foolish in the extreme.

He took a small detour, stopping beside the motor affixed to her apartment wall, and a moment later Red heard a whirr. The rope holding her hands lowered an inch, then another, until she was comfortably able to stand – though her arms were still held, still raised high above her.

“Better? I imagine your arms were getting quite sore.”

She nodded gratefully, feeling less strain in her shoulders. They’d been aching, she’d certainly noticed, but there’d been enough… distractions… to keep her mind off the discomfort.

“Well, since you’re more stable, perhaps you’d be kind enough to spread your legs for me.”

Red tried to turn to him in shock, but her raised arms and held position prevented even that reflex. She settled with rapidly shaking her head; the thought of the flogger between her legs filled her with a whole new sense of apprehension.

In the corner of her eye, and across all the mirrors, she saw him spin the flogger faster, changing the angle as he did, and then it whipped across her ass – all the strands thudding into her with a sting that enflamed the soreness already there. Involuntarily she cried out against the gag, but only a muffled squeak made it past.

Her bottom burned; the blow hadn’t been hard, but the kiss of the leather smarted fiercely. Quickly she spread her feet apart. What was the use of defying him, anyway? He could do what he wished to her. She had to trust that he would not strike as he just had on the even more vulnerable target she had been forced to expose. Trust… there was a concept she didn’t expect to have to consider while hanging, nude, from the suspension hook in her own bedroom.

“Good girl.” Again the flogger began to spin; he was still behind her, but she could see everything in the mirrored reflections about her – his movements, the lazy flow of the flogger’s tails. And, as a counterpoint, the swish of his own tail, the horns on his head. They seemed to suit him, adding to his appealing mystique. “…adding to his appealing mystique”?! What am I thinking!

She’d become distracted by the image of him, and by the war of her own emotions as she considered him. She suddenly realised his eyes were on her ass and the spin of the flogger had accelerated, and her cheeks clenched in anticipation.

“It’ll hurt less if you relax.” His warning came too late as the tails of the flogger began a regular staccato against her sore ass. She whimpered, desperately trying to convince her body to un-tense, but it was three… four impacts before she was finally able to release. It was as if she was falling into the sensations: no single strike was a blow such as Alfie had inflicted with the crop; each impact was a cascade of sharp caresses from the multiple strands, stroking across her sore skin, stimulating, tormenting; yet none so painful as to elicit more than a gasp against the muffling gag.

He was right: it was better if she relaxed, though it didn’t stop her involuntary tensing with each impact. But by focusing on relaxing she felt a sense of disassociation, as though she was detached somehow from the individual impacts and able to blend, instead, into the combined whirl of sensations.

He paused only long enough to brush her long hair over her shoulder before switching the flogger to her upper back, and Red hadn’t expected that. It felt quite different, the skin fresh, and after a moment she was aware of a glow that suffused all of her skin. Yet despite the sting of the strikes it wasn’t pain exactly… it didn’t hurt in the way she’d feared. Her body felt alive; she was more conscious of her skin than she ever had been, when suddenly he stopped.

Red became aware that she’d closed her eyes. She hadn’t seen him stop, hadn’t even immediately noticed given that her skin continued to throb as though expecting the regular impacts to continue. Her breathing was laboured against the gag, her body covered in a sheen of perspiration, but her ass and her back were alive, and in a way that she’d never experienced before.

His hand was suddenly on her ass, a gentle, soothing caress across her burning skin, and Red whimpered involuntarily, pushing her bottom back against his hand. The gag made her whimper an embarrassingly pathetic squeak, but she didn’t care – if his hand remained stroking her, it was worth the humiliation.

“Do you like that?” his lips seemed mere inches from her ear, and she nodded quickly.

His fingers dipped lower between her spread legs, rubbing gently across the folds of her sex. “Mmm,” he murmured, and she felt his breath against her ear, his shirt brushing lightly against the sensitive skin of her back, “do you know how wet you are?”

Red took a shuddering breath, her ass still instinctively pushing back against his hand, serving to grant him easier access to her body. She knew she was aroused, yes… but only as his fingers had touched her did she realise quite how wet he’d made her. Was she getting off on pain now too? But this wasn’t mere pain… he’d taught her that. Yes, it hurt; at some level, it hurt. But it was mild, like too-bright sunlight on a beautiful summer’s day, or the ache following a punishing session at the gym. It was a good hurt. Invigorating, energising, provoking her senses far beyond anything she’d previously experienced. And it magnified every touch, as if the lightest stroke of his fingertip was a cornucopia of pleasure.

She tried to push her ass back further, desperate for him to touch her more, but she’d reached the limit of what her bound wrists would allow and could only whimper her frustration and need.

“Are you ready for more?” again his deep voice was an intimate caress, whispered against her ear.

Red nodded once, twice, a shudder of arousal and anticipation running through her body, spurred by his words, his promise of more, and his fingers gently caressing her sex.

She’d hoped that meant he’d push his fingers into her, or perhaps even release her and take her to the bed, but instead he merely stepped away and began to twirl the flogger again. Red watched him warily in the mirrors’ reflections; the skin of her back and ass were still warm and if he started again she knew the pain would ramp up quickly. She wasn’t sure she was ready for that. But as he gradually walked around her, the tails of the flogger making wide, lazy circles in the air, it became apparent that it wasn’t her rear he was interested in.

He came to stand before her, his eyes running slowly and deliberately over her displayed nakedness. With her wrists bound above her Red felt more exposed than ever before, but it was the predatory look in his eyes that made her feel most vulnerable. She could do nothing to protect herself from whatever he was about to do, her body was defenceless and even the gag merely served to emphasise her helplessness. To add to her humiliation, the gag was preventing her from effectively being able to swallow, to control her tongue, and her saliva had been building for a while. Even as Damian stood before her a trail of drool fell from her lip to land between her breasts, running down her bare skin. For Red, for whom presentation and cultivated sophistication were hallmarks of her identity, this was an intolerable degradation. She whimpered her shame, unable to meet his eyes.

“There’s something delightful about such beauty, such innocence held captive, isn’t there?” he said quietly, as his hand came up to her breast.

“There is indeed,” Anne agreed from where she sat watching.

Damian’s hand stilled, not quite touching Red’s skin, and for a moment his eyes seem to flare. “Be quiet, witch, I was not addressing you.” His tone was curt in the extreme and he had not turned to look at Anne. “You are here on sufferance; remember that.”

Red cringed at the sharpness of his response for it showed something more of who Damian was, of what he was capable of being, and with her held so vulnerably she would not ever wish that tone directed at her. But his eyes softened again as he gazed upon her.

“I apologise for the witch. She will not interrupt us again.” He spoke softly but there was a warning in his words, and it was not directed at Red. It was an effort not to glance towards Anne; it was Anne who held power over her, and she could not imagine Anne would have taken kindly to being so summarily dismissed. Red feared recriminations later, and whether Anne would take out her ire in a punishment on Red.

He laid his palm lightly over her nipple and pushed gently against her breast. “You are so delicate, so fresh, that it almost seems a shame to despoil you,” he sounded wistful, “but then, I would not forgive myself for leaving this opportunity to another.”

He tucked the handle of the flogger under one arm and his fingers rose to the buckle holding her gag in place. She felt him work it loose. “I wish to hear you again.” He pulled the gag carefully free of her mouth, one hand gently supporting her jaw as he did. She was not quite quick enough to suck back all the saliva that had formed and another trail fell from her lips. “You may speak if you wish. I don’t need to remind you to be respectful, do I?”

He just had, of course. “No, sir.”

He smiled down at her then bent and kissed her mouth, his hand sliding around to hold the back of her neck, keeping her still for him. Her jaw was a little stiff from the gag and slick with all her drool, but she could not resist his soft lips, his probing tongue.

Damian broke the kiss and smiled down at her, his fingers brushing gently over her cheek. “Now we will continue, and I will be able to hear your delicious cries.”

She shivered at his words, at his touch, and at the sadism he implied. Would he hurt her now?

He took a small step back, once more taking the flogger in his hand and twirling the strands around in the way of which he seemed so fond. “Spread your legs again please, and keep them open.” Red hadn’t realised she’d closed them and hurried to obey, the added exposure warring with her fear of what he would do if she displeased. If he wanted her body open to him, he could easily force her to obey. It was the lesser of the two evils; a simple choice.

“Yes, just like that. Very beautiful…” his fingers dropped down between her legs, “…and very wet.”

She whimpered as his touch explored the folds of her sex, and again as his fingertip flicked up over her clit.

“You’re ready now.”

He hadn’t stopped twirling the flogger even as he’d caressed her. It caught her by surprise as he merely took a small step back and, with a flick of his wrist, caused the tips of the strands to rain down upon her naked breast.

Red cried out at the sting of the impact; it was the suddenness, the unexpected sensation and the sensitivity of her body more than the pain itself. To be struck in such a way in such a place, to have her basest desires to protect herself stripped from her – it was humiliation, it was possession, it was control. Her response was intense, her body shuddering from the combination of physical and psychological stimuli, yet he gave her no time to process before the flogger landed again.

She writhed before him, the flogger landing again and again, small gasps elicited with each impact as he struck in turn across both breasts. At some level she realised he was a master of his art; never did her involuntary movements cause him to strike other than as he intended, and never was more force used than he wished. Yet the intricacies of what he was doing paled against her reaction to them, for again her body had been brought to a state of stimulation that was almost too great to bear.

“Please… no more…” and the cry was drawn from her at last. She had feared displeasing him, feared the punishment he could enact if she did, but her breasts were burning with the treatment and her nipples were throbbing. Yet even so he had remained well within her pain thresholds – which she had never considered particularly great – and it was the excessive stimulation that had driven her to plead with him.

He turned slightly, the flogger drawing a mesmerising figure-eight before her face, and now he had it spinning the other way. “Legs apart,” he reminded her, and a moment later the strands caressed her vulva.

Red gasped, instinctively rising up on her toes to alleviate the sting, and she had to fight not to close her legs. She watched, transfixed, as the flogger made another lazy loop, and against the strands came to swipe across her defenceless vulva. It should hurt, she had thought it would hurt, but it was more like a slap: sharp, sudden, unexpected, even though she could see it coming, stimulating and teasing her flesh; and he did it again. And again.

Her entire body felt as if it were on fire. Her ass, her back, her breasts and now her pussy were burning with the result of his ministrations, and every inch of her skin was alive and tingling. Red felt tears in her eyes from the intensity; nothing else was in her world save for him, the flogger, and the feeling of her body.

He let the strands fall and lowered the handle. “Shall we see if that’s enough?”

“It’s enough,” Red gasped quickly; her body was overwhelmed and she was unable to think of anything else.

“I’ll be the judge,” he said softly, and his hand came again between her legs.

It was the lightest of touch, merely three fingers against her vulva, rubbing softly, gently, yet Red’s back arched and she writhed under him, a cry drawn from her lips. To her it was the most intense of touches, for not only was she highly stimulated but she suddenly realised it was his touch she’d been craving, and for so long. She pushed himself against his hand, sobbing with the relief of his soothing touch on her burning skin, her reaction to him, her arousal, her need.

“Hmm. Maybe it is enough.” His fingers stroked upward, lightly caressing her labia but carefully avoiding her clit, and as he did, he stooped and took one erect nipple into his warm, wet mouth. Red couldn’t help the moan that escaped and she arched her back, thrusting her chest towards him, his fingers playing with her even as his tongue flicked once, twice over her aching nipple.

“Please…” she begged, and she wasn’t even sure what she was asking for.

He reached up to her bound hands and unhooked them, his greater height and long reach making it a simple task. He kept his hands in hers as he pulled the slip on the knot he’d tied previously, then stepped behind her, pulling her hands behind her back. She felt him bind them again, and she hadn’t even thought to resist or make it difficult for him.

He pushed himself against her back. The soft material of his shirt was soothing against the sensitive skin of her back, but it was his groin pressing against her bound hands that drew her attention. She felt his hardness beneath her fingers. One hand came up and grasped her throat, tilting up her head up and back, his mouth against her ear. “Tell me what you want.”

What she wanted was simplicity itself. “Fuck me, please…” her fingers were reaching for him of their own accord, stroking his rigid cock through the material of his pants, and she longed to feel him without the impedance of his clothing.

He walked her forward to the bed, his hand about her throat as he did, and she was suddenly reminded of Anne’s gaze upon them. How could she have forgotten? He was going to take her… possibly… and Anne was going to watch all the while. There was nothing she could do about it, save for hiding her face in shame. If Damian had simply walked in and taken her it wouldn’t have been so bad, perhaps, but he hadn’t – he’d teased and tormented her, made her desire him, made her beg him to fuck her. And Anne had witnessed it all: her raw, unconditional surrender, and her most intimate emotions played out as a spectacle. Oh, Anne had watched before; Red knew that. But never in person, never so close, a constant reminder that they were not alone.

They reached the bed and her knees brushed against it, yet still Damian pushed her onward, his meaning clear. She climbed on awkwardly, her bound hands a hindrance, and couldn’t help but be reminded that she’d done the same for Alfie just a few hours ago, the night before. How many times did it take before it became a habit? She was under no illusion that if Anne had her way, this wouldn’t be the last time.

Yet there was a world of difference between the mocking, petty, small-minded Alfie and the charismatic strength of Damian, emphasised again as he courteously helped her keep her balance. It was strange to feel gratitude to his steadying hands after he’d tormented her so with the flogger, dominated and controlled her, but his style was more gentlemanly than she may have anticipated. She was struck with the notion that he was the kind of man her father wanted her to date, and the irony – given her current predicament – was profound.

She edged forward on her knees, conscious of Anne seated beside the small table, on the other side of the bed, watching every move. Behind her, Damian nudged against her ass, one hand still around her neck, controlling her. It was clear he wanted her more central on the bed, and, with a measured shift of weight, she gradually advanced, one knee at a time. She was determined not to rush, to be as graceful as was possible to be, for it was difficult enough being nude before their eyes without also appearing hurried or ungainly. What was it about men and their restriction of her hands? Steven, Alfie, now Damian… she didn’t threaten them, so why bind her? But she knew the answer: it was merely dominance; yet in the depth of her submissive response, maybe there was nothing ‘merely’ about it.

“You are femininity resplendent,” he said softly from behind her. “Now lower for me, slowly, your face to the bed. I don’t need to tell you to keep your delicious ass up, do I?”

“No, sir,” Red replied, closing her eyes briefly, his intent obvious. She began to obey, but his hand forestalled her.

“One more thing. We shall respect Anne’s wishes in this regard: you are to keep your face turned towards her, and not bury it in the mattress.”

Red swallowed nervously. So, she would be allowed nowhere to hide. He would take her while Anne watched, and she would see all – even the emotions as they played across her features. She glanced at Anne in reflex; her eyes were on Red and she was watching intently, her lips slightly parted and her eyes glittering with lust and anticipation. Their eyes met and Anne’s lips curled in a small smile, but it held no warmth. Her expression was one of condescension and predatory superiority, and Red knew that Anne saw her as nothing more than a toy for her amusement. Yet, though Anne had hardly touched her their relationship had been entirely sexual, and thus, whether Anne intended it or not, she was creating more dominance to prey upon Red’s submission. It made Red’s stomach squirm, further enflamed her arousal, and added to her shame.

Red wanted desperately to look away, to cover her face and hide, but Anne’s eyes held hers and even Damian’s hand on her neck was a subtle reminder not to turn away. She lowered as Damian had bid, bending at the waist, feeling her ass rise in the air to balance the move, and it was as if she was offering herself to him. But of course, she was… she already had. This was merely the graphic, explicit version, and it was as if she could feel his eyes on her nakedness, the spread cheeks of her ass and her exposed sex below. He would know how wet she was with merely a glimpse. Why did that bother her, when she knew what was to come? Perhaps it was the vulnerability of it, underscored with her tied hands, or maybe it was Anne’s presence, emphasising Red’s submissive obedience merely by bearing witness.

She bent further, Damian’s hand withdrawing and running down her spine as it did, reminding her again of the sensitivity the flogger had left. Even that light touch made her shiver. Her breasts touched the silk sheet, and it was refreshingly cool against her heated, stimulated skin. She laid her cheek on the mattress, her face turned towards Anne, her chin angled upward slightly to keep her in view. Anne merely shifted slightly in her chair to improve the angle, to better see Red’s face in anticipation of the moment when Damian took her. Red closed her eyes in shame and humiliation.

“Keep your eyes open while he enjoys you, please, dear.” Anne’s request was immediate, and on this point it seemed Damian would say nothing to gainsay her.

Every last remnant of defence was being stripped away, and it was an effort to force her eyes back open, to look at Anne and hold her gaze.

Behind her, the bed shifted to accommodate Damian’s weight, and Red gasped as she felt a touch against her sex. It took her a brief moment to realise it wasn’t Damian’s fingers; he’d clearly freed his manhood from his slacks, not even bothering to strip naked before he took her.

He rubbed the head of his cock against her, coating it in her wetness, before placing the tip against her entrance. Oh, how she longed to close her eyes! But Anne’s gaze held hers, even as he slowly pushed into her. Red took a sharp, tense gasp, feeling herself stretched by his girth. He was significantly larger than Alfie had been… larger than Steven too… it was almost painful to accommodate him, and that had just been the head of him! Her eyes widened as he pushed forward into her, stretching her more, and again she gasped. All the while Anne sat watching, a small smile on her lips. Her eyes held Red’s; she didn’t even look to where Damian was penetrating her, far more interested in Red’s expressions and the reflection of her emotions than in the act itself.

She felt Damian draw back slightly and push into her again, stretching her, and another small gasp was forced from her lips. Once more he did the same, his cock moving slowly inside her body, and this time he entered her fully, his hips coming to rest against her up-turned ass. Everywhere he touched her body he’d already applied the flogger; her ass, her sex, even her breasts against the sheet. Everywhere was alive, every touch accentuated. And he was so big inside her… Red’s breathing was shallow, her body struggling to accommodate him. She felt so full that it was almost painful, yet it was the pleasure that was most intense. She wondered if he would be gentle. If Anne hadn’t been watching she would have begged him not to be, but with her there, seeing every expression on Red’s face, she couldn’t bring herself to voice it.

“I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time,” he murmured to her, “longer than you could know,” and his hips began to move. At first his strokes were long, slow, and she shuddered with pleasure beneath him. Each elicited a whimper as he pushed into her, and Anne heard it all. She was as aware of Anne watching as she was of Damian’s body against hers, within her, and she’d never felt more objectified, more submissive, more blatantly sexual than she did in that moment.

His weight shifted slightly on the bed behind her, coming forward more into her body, then one hand grasped her bound wrists and the next thrust was sharp, hard. He pushed her bound wrists against the small of her arched back, holding her still for him, and his thrust drove a cry from her. He withdrew slowly then thrust in again, his hips hitting her ass with a slapping sound against her sore flesh. Again Red cried out involuntarily, and again and again as he thrust into her; each time she felt shame and humiliation to be so taken as Anne watched, unable to control her own responses. But too, there was pleasure. She’d never been fucked like this by anyone, and her channel clenched around him as a shudder of pleasure wracked her body.

There were tears in her eyes from the strain of having to keep them open. Oh she could blink, but she couldn’t close them, even to focus on the sensations he was inflicting upon her. Damn Anne… she’d made it a compulsion, hadn’t she?

The intensity of his thrusts only increased, the only sounds in the room the repeated slaps of his groin against her ass and the cries each forced from her. She couldn’t even hear him breathing, as though his exertion was too mild to be a hindrance. His hand landed across her ass, adding another slap to interrupt the rhythm, and again Red moaned.

Her pleasure was building, her climax nearing; the force of his assault on her was too much for her body to bear even without all the extra stimulation of her skin, the voyeurism, the helplessness feeding her submission.

“Please…” she begged, and the word slipped out without thinking. She saw Anne’s eyes glitter with lust, felt Damian’s hand clench tighter around her wrists, and he drove into her harder, faster. There were no words now, only the sounds of pleasure forced from her as an orgasm swept through her.

He didn’t stop. Even as her tunnel clenched tightly around him, his only acknowledgement was a small grunt of effort as he plunged into her again, then again, and she could only ride the waves of pleasure helplessly beneath him.

Red had no sense of time; she didn’t know how long he fucked her for. She lost track of the number of times she came, only that her body was driven from one peak to the next, sore and used and filled by him over and over. Her throat was sore from her cries, her wrists and shoulders ached from the force of his grip on her, her eyes shed tears to the sheets below, and her sex throbbed with the pummelling it had received; yet she was near oblivious to these discomforts in the world of pleasure he inflicted upon her.

At last, at long last, she felt the rhythm of his strokes change, growing shorter, more abrupt, and she sensed his climax was near. He pulled her hard against himself as his hips ground against her ass and she felt him swell inside her then erupt with a flood of his seed. His cum splashed against her walls, feeling so much warmer than any she had ever received, the sensation almost alien yet so fulfilling, and her body clenched around him and beneath him as she too came again.

For a long moment all was quiet, just the sound of her ragged breathing as a sign that they were finished. Then he released his own long, pent-up breath, and Red felt his fingers pull loose the bindings around her wrists. Inside her his cock pulsed again, sending pleasurable aftershocks through her aching sex, before he slowly withdrew from her, a flood of his seed slipping from her sex to splash against the sheet beneath.

He took another breath and she felt his weight leave the bed. “We are done then, witch. Your debt is paid.”

She saw Anne glance towards him and nod, before turning her gaze back to Red’s face.

Red slowly eased her aching arms forward, her shoulders making known their discomfort, and collapsed to lay prone on the bed. It took her a moment to find her voice, and her throat was sore, her words husky when it came. “Thank you, sir.”

“He’s already gone, dear.”

Red blinked in surprise, at first not understanding, then looked in the mirror before her: nothing but empty room. She turned, looking behind her, and there was no sign of him. It had been but a fleeting moment… had he really walked out so quickly? Could he have really walked out so quickly? It would have taken him longer than that merely to adjust his clothing. She hadn’t even heard the door.

It was more magic she didn’t understand; he’d just vanished. She’d just been fucked by a demon, there was no doubt now.

She turned to glare at Anne. “Is this my role in life now, witch? To be your whore, to be pimped out for demons?”

“Oh dear, don’t be so ungrateful, it’s not becoming.” She fixed Red with a penetrating stare. “Answer me this: did you enjoy it?”

“…Yes,” and Red couldn’t stop her answer. Oh, she hurt almost everywhere, the aches making their presence known as the endorphins slowly receded… but hell yes, she’d enjoyed it. It had been amazing.

“Well then. What are you complaining about?”

Red said nothing, letting the fire in her eyes clearly communicate her reaction.

Anne raised an eyebrow. “You don’t get to look at me like that, dear. Or to call me ‘witch’. You forget whom you’re addressing.”

“Who am I addressing, witch?” There were no compulsions on her now; Damian had left, she felt bereft of his presence and was nothing more than a used, discarded toy. For some inexplicable reason she was so angry with Anne - even though she knew it was reckless.

Anne thinned her lips. “Do not try my patience, dear. Know your place.”

Red slowly pushed herself up, her body aching with each move. “I have no ‘place’. I’m my own person, dammit, and I’m done with your games.”

Anne smiled slowly. “You are a spoilt, prissy little self-entitled bitch, and being properly fucked once or twice hardly changes that – despite how obviously keen you are to be on your knees. I am not done with you yet, dear.”

There were so many emotions running through Red that she couldn’t process them all, and it was the anger that won out. “You may not be done with me but I’m done with you,” she spat at Anne. “No more, you hear?”

Anne laughed, though there was no humour in her tone. “No more? My dear, we’ve only just begun.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Oh, but you will. And again. And again and again until I’m finished with you.”

Red could only glare at her as she fought to deny the import of Anne’s words.

“You are mine now, dear, and it’s time you were reminded. Crawl over here.”

Red’s eyes widened as her limbs began to obey. She moved to all fours, unable to prevent herself, and slowly crawled across the bed towards Anne.

“I can make you do whatever I want, whenever I want… it seems you need a reminder, dear.”

Red was nearing the edge of the bed and terror was gripping her. She was wholly unable to control her own body, and Anne’s impassive mask had finally slipped; she was infuriated, and Red was responsible.

If she’d been vulnerable before it was nothing to the sheer abject helplessness she faced before Anne’s total control of her.

She reached the edge of the bed and slowly edged over the side, one hand then the other reaching the soft, plush carpet, a knee following and the last. She continued to crawl to where Anne sat, unable to do anything else.

“Yes, crawl to me. It is fitting, is it not, for the poor little rich girl to become nothing more than a slave for my whims?” Anne watched her come, her eyes glittering. “And such a comely one too; I have to admit you do look good naked, crawling so eagerly towards me.”

Red had almost reached Anne’s chair.

“Stop there,” Anne said, and Red felt her body freeze. “Now then, dear, wouldn’t you like a further demonstration of my power? A further reminder of your place?”

“I’m sorry, Anne,” Red whispered, her body trembling with fear. All her anger had drained away in the face of her powerlessness. “Please, forgive me.”

“I’m not the forgiving type, dear. No, I collect the debts that are owed me.” She leant forward slightly. “Kneel.”

Red moved swiftly to kneel before her, unsure whether it was Anne’s compulsion or her own sudden desire to obey. She realised how terrible was the mistake she had made, and trembled before Anne. Her ass was sore against her heels, her body sticky with the remnants of sex, her shoulders aching, her skin red and sore. Yet these were foot-notes in the back of her mind in the face of her current peril.

“Kneel properly, dear.”

It took Red a moment to realise what Anne meant, for she’d felt no further compulsion directing her. Lowering her eyes in shame and mortification, she slowly spread her knees wide beneath Anne’s gaze, and the movement was her own decision, wholly within her own control, an act of utter submission.

“Your cunt looks well-fucked,” Anne observed, and the vulgarity was more shocking for being so different from her usual composed and well-bred manner of speaking. “I could compel you to feed yourself the remnants of his cum, but I know you’d enjoy that too much.”

Red flinched as if struck, not least for the truth in Anne’s derogatory words.

“Do you not understand your place? I could tell you to walk from this apartment just as you are, find the first man you seek and beg him to fuck you, and you would!”

Red shivered, and the worst thing was the idea wasn’t unattractive.

“I could parade man after man into this bedroom, and make you do whatever they wished. I could make you hate it or love it, but you would still do it. I could make you scream and fight as you were taken over and over again, or I could make you beg and plead for them to abuse you.”

Anne’s words created images in Red’s mind, and she imagined herself desperate to please an array of strangers in whatever way they wished. She shuddered; as a fantasy it was thrilling, but Anne could make it a reality, and she was not sure that would be so enjoyable.

Anne leant forward, placing a fingertip under Red’s chin and tilting her face up, forcing Red to meet her eyes. “Do you understand, dear?”

“Yes, Anne. I beg forgiveness,” and she poured her earnestness into her words.

“Oh my dear, I want to forgive you, I really do. But you still need to be punished.”

Red shrunk back, her eyes wide at the thought of how Anne might choose to chastise her. “Please Anne, have mercy.”

Anne caressed Red’s cheek with her fingers. “It is my weakness, dear, but I can never resist a pretty nude girl begging on her knees.” She smiled mischievously, “And it was such fun watching you get fucked just now. It’s made me all quite a bother.”

She leant back in her chair, looking down at Red. “Can you guess what your punishment will be?”

Red swallowed nervously. It was so much harder to do what she needed to do without Anne’s compulsion, or even the aura Red suspected she’d used when she first visited, making Red desperate to please. None of that was present now, and she had no doubt that Anne had removed them if only to accentuate the effect of her punishment. Yet, she knew what had to be done.

She steeled herself, her tone carefully respectful. “Please Anne, please may I… show my remorse by… licking you?”

“Oh, my dear, what a kind suggestion! Yes, you may.”

It was important to show enthusiasm, Red knew. Her performance needed to be convincing. She dropped forward onto all fours and crawled slowly closer to Anne, her eyes on the skirt covering her objective. Anne adjusted in her chair, parting her legs to give Red access, revealing a glimpse of lacy black underwear. That was a surprise; Red had expected something more staid.

She crawled between her legs and placed a tentative kiss on the inside of Anne’s knee.

“I didn’t expect you to be quite so willing, dear,” Anne said as she watched, and her tone was mocking, for Anne knew that Red had little experience with women.

Red adjusted her weight to support herself with one hand on the carpet, and reached up with the other to push back Anne’s skirt. She leant in to place a kiss against the thin material covering her sex; it was already damp with Anne’s arousal, though whether that was from her voyeurism or the anticipation of Red’s tongue, she didn’t know.

“I don’t usually… engage with girls like you,” Anne commented thoughtfully, “but in your case I might make an exception. You are truly lovely, and I do so enjoy your reluctance. I think I could get used to having you naked between my legs.”

“Thank you, Anne.” Politeness was no great cost, and keeping Anne pleased was paramount in Red’s present desires. She chewed her lip nervously, unsure how to proceed: Anne had made no move to help Red in her task, and she wondered if she was expected to remove Anne’s underwear, or simply pull it away. She had little experience in such matters, and did not want to err. But as Anne had shown no intent to aid in the removal of her lacy black panties, Red gently slipped a finger beneath the material, pulling it out and to one side.

Her eyes met Anne’s smooth vulva; another surprise, for Red had not anticipated that Anne was the sort of person to carefully groom herself there. She’d maintained a tightly trimmed bush above her labia, but the lips themselves were smooth. Red realised her prejudice; there was no reason to think Anne would have one preference or another, merely because, up to this point, she’d maintained a principally prim and proper attitude.

There was something quite appealing about the smoothness of Anne’s sex, the first Red had seen so intimately other than her own, and as she leant in to place a gentle kiss against it, she did so with more curiosity than reluctance. There was a faint musky scent of Anne’s arousal, and it too held a certain appeal. Her tongue came out tentatively, licking softly between Anne’s lips, tracing the line of her cleft, tasting a hint of arousal on the tip of her tongue: a clean, mildly tangy flavour that was not unpleasant. And it wasn’t as if Red hadn’t tasted herself just that morning.

She licked again, more firmly, pushing her tongue deep between Anne’s labia, focusing now on giving her pleasure.

“Mmm, such a lovely start,” Anne sighed contentedly, “but it wouldn’t be a punishment if you end up enjoying yourself, would it dear? And, having seen what a slut you really are, I know how much you like to use your mouth.”

Red licked again, pushing her tongue into Anne’s entrance, trying to focus on her task rather than Anne’s goading comments. Anne’s lips had blossomed open, her arousal evident, and Red felt moisture coat her nose and cheeks as she pushed her face and tongue into Anne’s soft, smooth sex. It was not unlike sucking a man, she thought; the same position on her knees, the same sense of submission… how much she had come to realise of her submission, these past few days, and how much she had enjoyed it.

She lapped again at Anne, thinking that there were worse punishments; if this kept Anne from parading random men into her bedroom to use her out of spite, it was more than worth it. It wouldn’t be difficult to develop a liking for it… which was an unexpected reaction. Perhaps she was more into women than she’d thought.

“Do you like being on your knees between my legs, dear?” and Anne dropped one hand down to Red’s head, fingers sliding into her maroon tresses.

“Yes, Anne,” Red murmured against her sex, for it was the politic answer, and yet also, to her own astonishment, the truth.

“Well, that’s not the point here at all, is it?” Anne’s hand pulled Red more firmly between her legs. “This is about teaching you your place, not giving you another outlet for your slutty desires.”

Red licked and lapped at Anne, a sense of foreboding caused by her words and conscious of the need to perform as well as she could.

“Hmm, I know. Here is my instruction, dear, and you are to be aware of it from the beginning. From now on, as you lick me, your own arousal will grow rapidly.” Red licked again, and she immediately felt a growing tingle between her own legs, for there was something deliciously submissive, perfectly right about her position, her task, and it was quickly turning her on... exactly as Anne had wished, even to the point of making her aware of the compulsion. She was being played with, toyed with, as Anne demonstrated her power over her once more, but even as she realised this her breath quickened, her own pussy clenched, and she moaned against Anne’s sex.

But Anne wasn’t finished. “Your own orgasm will begin to build, each lick you make bringing you closer to your own release.” Again Red moaned, her body on fire as she licked at Anne, her ass squirming in the air with her rapidly heightened arousal.

Anne’s lips twitched in amusement as she watched. “You will want more than anything to come, such will be the pressing need of your arousal, and you will be eager to lick to achieve that goal.” Her voice lowered, her tone suddenly malicious, “Yet nothing you do will allow you to reach your orgasm; you will remain on the edge, unfulfilled.”

Red whimpered in helpless protest, her arousal already reaching uncontrollable heights, her orgasm already building deep within her, and now Anne had taken away all hope of release. Yet even knowing it was futile, even knowing she was being punished, Red continued to use her mouth on Anne with wild abandon, in the forlorn hope that she might yet still be able to reach the climax she so desperately sought.

“Gosh yes, that’s the tongue I need between my legs,” Anne gasped, sliding forward slightly in her seat to give Red better access. “You are properly motivated now, aren’t you dear?”

She tightened her grip in Red’s hair, pulling her mouth to her clit. Red moaned against her, her own passion uncontrollably rising still further, her tongue licking as rapidly as she could. Each lick was a delicious agony, driving her ardour to greater heights, yet no matter how high the peak, the desperately-needed release continued to evade her.

Anne’s panties ripped as Red inadvertently pulled too hard in her fervour to please, yet neither much noticed nor cared. But with the material pulled away Red’s hand was free, and quickly it went between her own legs, delving into her wetness, desperate to bring the extra stimulation she needed to reach her own orgasm. A second hand wound into Red’s hair as Anne’s pulled her head more firmly between her legs, her hips beginning to buck beneath Red’s eagerly-thrashing tongue, and her breathing was an array of small gasps. “Ohhh yes, just there… I’m going to… cum… on your face…”

Red was whimpering with each lick, her hand busy between her legs, her hips writhing with the strength of her own unrequited need. Though she was aware of Anne’s manipulations, the intensity of her arousal had driven her far past the point of being able to think of anything but the hunger she felt for Anne’s sex, and the desperate, burning desire of her own body.

She was dimly aware of Anne’s body beginning to shudder beneath her mouth, Anne’s thighs clenching tightly around her head, but all her focus was on lashing her tongue back and forth where her mouth was held to Anne’s clit, and the driving of her fingers deep inside her own sex.

Anne’s tremors slowly abated and Red felt her hand push her firmly away. She resisted, pushing back – she needed one more lick!

“That’s enough, dear.” Red whimpered, pushing forward again, swiping her tongue once more across Anne’s slick folds.

“Stop licking, Red,” and this time she had no choice but to obey. She cried her frustration, her eyes focused on Anne’s slick sex, her fingers still moving desperately against her own body, but to no avail. “Kneel back, please.”

Reluctantly Red complied, her eyes wide, her knees spread as her fingers rubbed frantically across her own swollen clit. “Please Anne, please let me come!”

Anne took a moment to compose herself, sitting back up in her chair, closing her knees and readjusting her dishevelled skirt. She pulled the remnants of her underwear from beneath her ass and let them drop, discarded, to Red’s floor. “I think we should definitely do that again sometime, don’t you, dear?”

“Yes… yes…” Red gasped, her back arching as her fingers delved into her drenched sex once again, “Please Anne, please… I’m begging you… please let me cum!”

Anne watched Red’s wanton display for a long moment, a small smile on her face. Red kept her pleading eyes on her, her hand never stopping. She wanted to beg again, but risked displeasing with her persistence.

“You want to be allowed to cum, dear?” Anne asked after a while.

“Yes! Yes! Please, Anne, please!” Red’s response was swift, driven by her tormented desires.

“Oh look, your hand is covered in the remnants of demon-cum. You may orgasm as you lick it clean.”

With a cry Red lifted her hand to her mouth, pushing her fingers deep inside, her tongue and lips working to clean the stickiness from her skin. Immediately her body shook as a powerful climax overwhelmed her, the strong, delicious taste of Damian’s seed filling her mouth, feeding her addiction, and adding to the intensity.

“And there I was thinking you didn’t like women, dear. I think you’ve been holding out on yourself.” Her brow furrowed thoughtfully, “It’s a shame my… engagements are only with male demons…” she smiled as she looked down at Red. “Perhaps if you’re a good girl, I’ll find you some human females to please.”

Red whimpered around her fingers at Anne’s continued goading, her body still shaking from the after-tremors of her forceful release. Oh, Anne had such complete control over her, and though it was abhorrent and perverted, the sexual gratification she had experienced as a consequence was mind-blowing. Could she really accept this future? Was good (okay, fucking awesome) sex enough recompense for the repeated overriding of her free will?

“Well, dear, it’s been fun,” Anne pushed herself slowly to her feet, taking a moment to steady herself as she stood. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon. For now, you have some time to recover…” she cast her eye critically over Red’s nudity, her sweat-damped locks, her reddened skin, her open and gaping sex slick with the combination of Red’s arousal and the remnants of Damian’s pleasure. “I think you may need a shower, too.” She stepped around Red, patting her gently on the head. “Don’t worry dear, I’ll show myself out.”

She made her way across Red’s apartment, leaving Red kneeling forlornly on the carpet. The door opened and a moment later closed again, and Red was finally alone. A small sob escaped her. She knelt for a long time, her eyes fixed on the torn, lacy underwear Anne had left behind.

*

“Trent? It’s Red.” She nodded impatiently. “Yes, but did you follow her?”

Red closed her eyes in relief as she heard his reply. “Send me the details, I’ll meet you there. Also, I need you to get me some things…”

She reeled off the list of what she needed, speaking in a hushed tone in the one spot in her kitchen that wasn’t overlooked by any mirror.

It had been a couple of hours since Anne had left. Red had showered slowly, the water initially sore on her abused skin, but gradually beginning to soothe. She’d dressed in jeans, a long, loose t-shirt and a thick hoodie – hardly her usual style, but she needed something more after two days of kimono-related consequences. Besides, the clothes she’d chosen were more comfortable against her still-sensitive skin. And she’d been extremely relieved to discover Anne’s throw-away comment from earlier in the day hadn’t prevented her from choosing something other than a short, thin, silky robe.

She’d spent all that time ruminating on her options, even questioning whether any form of defiance was worth the risk. In the end, she’d made her decision and committed to it. Yes, there was a risk of being caught, of being further punished, and it scared her to her core how vengeful Anne would be if her plan failed.

An image entered her mind unbidden – her, nude on her bed, as men and demons took their way with her, her orgasms and pleasure denied her. She knew what the consequences of failure would be, but Anne’s control of her had to be broken. Nothing prevented Anne from enacting precisely what Red feared merely on a whim, and she would be helpless to resist. No, Anne must be stopped.

Red had to try.

Her phone vibrated; a message from Trent, an address. An apartment in New York, just as she’d thought. Then it beeped again, with another address, and this one was… she had no idea. She pulled up Google maps and checked: it was down near the docks in Brooklyn, a storage facility of some type. What would Anne be doing there?

A text came through: Her apartment is registered in her name. I did some digging; she’s registered as the sole owner of a limited company: Portland Introduction Services LLC

Hmm. Innocuous name for a demonic sex-trafficking outfit. Red typed a quick reply: is that storage facility the location?

Yes. I had to call in some favours but I got this address. I don’t know what’s there, but it’s the company’s only asset.

Red thought quickly. Where to start: Anne’s apartment, or her storage?

Her phone vibrated again. Be careful: she’s still at her apartment. I’ll get your stuff then come back here and keep a watch until you arrive.

The storage facility then. She’d go there first while Anne was elsewhere. She typed a quick acknowledgement to Trent and left her apartment.

She considered driving; the address in Brooklyn was an hour away. In the end she ordered an Uber Black; there’d be nowhere she’d want to leave her Ferrari, and she could always simply ask the driver to wait. She was sure he wouldn’t mind being paid to sit around.

She pulled her hood up and left her apartment. Now all she had to do was get to her destination without looking in, or being seen by, any mirrors. Perhaps it was an unnecessary precaution, but equally, perhaps it wasn’t – and there was too much at stake.

She took the stairs; the elevator had mirrors. The foyer had some too, she knew, but she kept her distance and her eyes averted. She checked her phone; the uber was already here. Perfect. She opened the front passenger door and the driver looked at her in surprise. “Mind if I sit up front?”

“Er… no, miss.”

It was the only seat where the mirrors couldn’t see her.

The Uber dropped her off outside an unimposing grey building with an uninviting façade, quickly agreeing to wait when she paid him an enormous tip, and offered more if he was still here when she was done. She stepped out of the car and pushed open the heavy door to the building, entering into a tired-looking reception area with a large desk. No mirrors, thankfully. There was a single man on duty, dressed in a security uniform.

She eyed him warily; she had no cover story, no reason to be accessing Anne’s things. This would not be easy.

Perhaps a combination of charm, directness, and dumb luck would work. The security guard looked up, seeing her, an expression of mild surprise. Clearly he didn’t get a lot of visitors – or not a lot of visitors like her, anyway. He seemed in his late thirties, with a slightly sour disposition, probably from being stuck in a going-nowhere job that was as boring as fuck. Her visit would likely be the most interesting thing in his day.

She cursed herself for not bringing money for bribes. She was sure a man like that would do anything for a free, large, cash handout. Though… it gave her an idea… but she should’ve worn something more helpful than a hoodie and jeans. Something like a kimono would’ve been ideal.

Yet perhaps her clothes could still be an asset.

She flashed a smile in his direction. “My gosh, it’s so much warmer than I had expected!” Her hands grasped the hem of her hoodie and she pulled it deliberately slowly up over her head and off, letting her t-shirt ruck up as she did, flashing her bare stomach beneath. She wrapped the arms of the hoodie low around her waist, tying a knot, and smiled again as she pulled her t-shirt up a little, fanning it as if to cool herself. It was a simple matter to tug it against her braless breasts as he did so, and it was gratifying to watch his eyes follow every movement.

And now I really am a slut. But needs must.

“Okay, okay…” she took a step closer to the desk. “I’m so sorry,” she gushed, “it’s my first week on the job. I’m here from Portland Introduction Services to catalogue our storage.”

He drew his eyes reluctantly up to her face. “And you are?”

“Oh, um… Jamie. Jamie… Red.” God, I’d make a terrible spy.

He keyed in her name into the terminal on his desk. “Jamie Red? Sorry, can’t help you. You’re not approved.”

“Well um… it’s my first week. Maybe the system isn’t updated yet?” She chewed on her lip with feigned nervousness, the picture of the gullible, inexperienced new hire.

“Can’t help you. Sorry.”

“Oh, but… I must get in… I have to catalogue the storage…” she trailed off weakly, her eyes on him with a pleading expression. “I only need a few minutes.”

“I’d love to help, honey, but your name isn’t approved.”

“If… if I don’t get this done today I could lose my job!” She turned doe-like eyes towards him, fingers toying nervously with the hem of her shirt, pulling it tight against her breasts.

“Not my problem honey, sorry.” He leant back in his chair, the very model of indifference, even as his eyes strayed down from her face.

“I can’t lose my job!” it was such fun to affect a desperate air, “Please… please… isn’t there anything I could do to get you to help me…?”

And there it was. The hook was laid. She held her pleading expression, waiting to see if he’d take the bait.

His chair came up slightly as he sat forward again. “Lose your job, you say?”

“Yes! And I need it so badly! I’d do anything for this job. I owe quite a lot of money, and…” she trailed off again and lifted her eyes appealingly.

“So you really, really need this job?”

“Yes, sir, I do!”

He turned to his terminal, typing quick strokes into the keyboard. “Portland Introduction Services? Yeah. They have a storage room on floor 7. Key card entry.” He pulled a key card from the desk before him and waggled it at her. “This card, specifically.”

She kept her t-shirt taut across her breasts and her expression helpless and hopeful. He ran his eyes over her again.

“Well…” he pushed his chair back from his desk. “You’re in luck. It’s a quiet day… I’ll take you on up.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you!” What were the chances he’d help her from the kindness of his heart? Fuck all. But… well… if it got her into Anne’s storage, it would be worth it.

And the playing had been fun. The thought of what she was about to do aroused her. Her nipples were hard against her t-shirt, and she knew he’d seen. He wasn’t even that attractive, and she didn’t care. What have I become?

“Elevator’s this way. After you, honey.”

“Couldn’t we… couldn’t we take the stairs?”

He looked at her in surprise. “I’m not taking the stairs to the seventh floor, honey. You want in or not?”

“Oh… yes.” She pressed the button and the doors opened. Breathed a sigh of relief; the building was too old, too tired and too cheap to have installed mirrors in their elevator.

He followed Red in, using the card to access the controls. Security seemed high for such a simple facility. Fancy security taking all the mirror budget, she thought. I’m ok with that.

His finger rested over the number-seven button. “So just how… keen… are you to keep your job, little lady?” So not out of the kindness of his heart then.

“Very keen, sir.”

“And you’re willing to pay me for my time, being so helpful an’ all?”

“Oh yes, sir, of course!” She lowered her eyes, looking downcast. “Though… I have no money.”

“I can think of a way you could pay.” His hand came up to paw at her breast through her thin t-shirt, but Red was an expert now. She let slip a little whimper, but made no move to pull away.

He pushed the button and with a judder the elevator began to rise. “We’re alone in this here whole building, little lady. Just you an’ me. No one ever comes in here unless they have an appointment. Ain’t no appointments today.”

His thumb rubbed over her hardened nipple and he squeezed her breast again, then he raised the key card and waggled it in the air. “How about you show me them fine titties, and maybe I’ll help you.”

Her hands clutched the hem of her t-shirt in mock-nervousness, screwing up the material as she again deliberately flashed the bare skin of her stomach. “Just… just show you my breasts?”

“You did say you wanted to keep your job,” he reminded her.

“Oh… yes… um…” she slowly pulled the t-shirt up, turning her face to the side to show her embarrassment and unwilling reluctance. After the last few days it was an easy role to play.

His hand was back on her swiftly, squeezing one breast and then the other, and it took little effort to allow a small, aroused gasp to be pulled from her lips.

The elevator pinged and the doors opened, and he leered at her as he took a final squeeze before turning and leading the way down the corridor. Behind him Red re-adjusted her t-shirt, then followed.

“Room 12,” he said, stopping a moment later before a simple door with a key-card lock, again waggling the card in the air.

“Thank you, sir,” holding out her hand for the card.

“Not so fast, little lady.”

She let her hand fall. “You want… you want me to lift up my shirt again?”

“You want this key?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You want your job?”

“Oh, I really do, sir.”

“Then… I want your tits out… and I want you on your knees, sucking my cock. Then the card’s yours.”

Red felt a shiver run through her at the thought of his cock in her mouth, the prospect of tasting some more cum. “Mmm… okay,” and she smiled. It had been easier than she’d thought.

*

Red swiped the card through the lock as soon as the elevator doors had closed behind her friendly security guard.

Her oral skills had earned her a half-hour – which was hopefully more than she’d need. The door clicked unlock, and she eagerly pulled it open.

Anne’s storage room was a simple, windowless, square room, and for a storage room it was surprisingly empty. Red saw at a glance that it wasn’t simply a storage room at all. The centre of the room was an open space, a collection of half-used candles discarded to one side and the remnants of poorly-erased markings evident on the smooth concrete floor. Opposite the door were two large chests, and Red noted others in the corners. Around the walls were set several bookcases, filled with volumes that looked far too old to be a regular in Barnes and Noble. Her curiosity piqued, Red chose a book at random and pulled it off its shelf.

The binding was ancient, a supple leather of some type, the strings holding it together yellowed with age and fraying. She opened it at random to a page covered in unidentifiable hieroglyphics and diagrams, flicked through to another page to find more of the same. Weird. She replaced it on the shelf and selected another.

This one too held the same sort of writings, and now Red was beginning to think it was an ancient language, though one she couldn’t possibly have begun to identify. She turned some pages; more of the same. She remembered an old manuscript she’d seen in the Metropolitan Museum of Art that looked similar, and her brain was suggesting Sumerian… but it could’ve been Chinese for all the difference that made to Red. She idly turned another page and almost dropped the book, for this was no writing but a vivid illustration – and it was of a demon.

She stared, transfixed, and the illustration seemed to move as she looked at it. Quickly Red closed the book, placing it back on the shelf with trembling fingers.

She moved to the chests next. The first was locked, and no key was evident. The second appeared to hold some personal belongings – a cloth, neatly folded, an amulet, some small old books. She’d hoped for more. She lifted out the cloth to see what was beneath, and two photos fell from inside. Both were yellow with age. Red picked one up, treating it carefully, and gasped in surprise. The picture depicted a woman wearing a long white dress with a high waistline directly below the bust, white gloves and a white bonnet. It was clear the photo was very old, but there was no mistaking the person depicted within: it was Anne. Red turned it over, examining it further, but could glean no more. The second was also of Anne, taken at another time though similarly attired, and this one had some writing on the back: Nantes, Juillet 1843.

Red let out a slow breath as she carefully wrapped the photos back up in the cloth.

What had Anne said? “As human as you are, dear. Perhaps a little older.”

Damian had chuckled, “An understatement.”

‘Witch’ indeed. It was scarcely believable, except that Anne’s life was full of ancient tomes of dead languages, magical mirrors and demons.

Red picked up one of the smaller books, flicking it open. It seemed to be a diary, entries scrawled in fading ink, the hand long and stylistic, reminiscent of an older time. It appeared to be written in French, a language Red couldn’t read. On a whim she pulled out her phone and took a picture, feeding the image through Google app to translate the text, but the writing was too faded, or too cursive, for any results.

She checked her phone: she’d used over half her time. She explored the rest of the room as best as she was able, but found nothing further. Most of the chests were locked, and she had no way of prying them open. The books on the shelves were useless to her. Maybe if she had more time…

Answers, but no solutions. The trip hadn’t been a total waste, but close enough. Well… at least she’d had another mouthful of cum.

She left with a sigh, checking everything looked as it did before she arrived, and carefully closing the door behind her. The security guard leered at her as she handed back the key card and slapped her ass as she left, but all things considered that seemed fair.

Her Uber driver awaited, clearly quite content to hang around for another large tip. She remembered to sit in the front, pulled up the other address Trent had given her, and settled back for the ride.

Her mind was racing. Anne was a witch – Damian had said as much on several occasions, and it hadn’t sounded like a slur. Well, it had sounded like a slur when he’d said it, but it had also sounded like he’d meant it literally. The photo with her in it – and if it wasn’t her, she’d had an ancestor that was a spitting image; Red knew what she looked like well enough to be sure of that – made her almost two centuries old, and that assumed she hadn’t already extended her lifespan by the time her photo was taken in France. She could be even older.

Anne had books about demons, written in ancient languages. And what had Damian said? “We are done then, witch. Your debt is paid.”

Well. Red really had no idea what was going on, but the implications were clear enough: Anne traded girls like Red for favours with demons, had an unnaturally long life, magical powers, and behind it all lay the mirror with the grotesque, demonic visage that Red had first seen in the house, only a handful of days before.

So much had happened and in such a short time.

She texted Trent: Done at the warehouse. OMW. Any change?

The reply came back almost immediately. No, unless she left when I was getting your things, she’s still in there.

Red thought for a moment. She was committed. It was time to beard the… witch… in her den.

I’m coming to you. Be there in 40.

Either her plan would work, or Anne would subject her to numerous tortures for the rest of her life.

Red looked out the window at the passing view. This was it; the moment, the play. All or nothing at all.

*

Trent was waiting across from Anne’s apartment, and Red had the Uber drop her off alongside.

“You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Scared shitless, about to gamble my very life, and still I just say, ‘I’m fine.’

He nodded. “Find anything useful?”

“Not really. Some stuff you wouldn’t believe, but nothing that can help me.” She looked up at Anne’s apartment. “This is the only way.”

Again he nodded. “Got your stuff.” He handed over a heavy brown paper bag. “But Red… this is as far as I go. I can’t know – or be involved with – whatever happens next.”

She accepted the comforting weight of the bag. “You’ve done all I asked, Trent. Thank you.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Okay then. Well… good luck.”

She watched him walk away, then checked the contents of her bag: ear plugs, Bluetooth headphones, 9mm, suppressor, bullets. Trent was dependable. She took a deep breath and walked across the road.

Anne’s apartment block wasn’t quite in the league of Red’s, but it wasn’t far off. The foyer was nice, Red thought as she made her way across to the elevators. The concierge was occupied with some other visitors and it seemed a terrible shame to interrupt him; she most certainly didn’t want to risk being announced. She pressed the call button and one elevator opened immediately. Red stepped in just as the concierge called ‘Miss!’, but by then it was a simple matter to press a floor number. A stroke of luck.

Floor 17, apartment B. As the elevator rose Red estimated she had about a minute. Should be enough. The earplugs went in, the gun came out. Safety check. Magazine check: full. Trent was good to his word. A round in the chamber. She knew her way around a pistol. Not the best shot, but… good enough for this. She’d never used a silencer before. It took her longer than she’d expected to thread it, and the elevator had begun to slow as she finished. Spare bullets in her empty back pocket. Jeans were useful for something; hardly anything else she owned had pockets.

The lift dinged open. Okay, a minute hadn’t been enough after all. She still had to sync the Bluetooth headset to her phone, but that took just a moment as she stepped out into the corridor. The gun was concealed down along her leg, but the corridor was empty. Good. Headset on. She pulled up Spotify and keyed in ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ from Wagner: it was loud, long, and easy enough to ignore. The music was muffled through her earplugs. She turned it up a notch.

Okay. Apartment 17B. Here we go.

She knocked twice, loudly… at least she thought it was loudly based on how hard she’d hit it and how much her fist felt the impact. Maybe she’d hammered. It was difficult to tell over the muffled Wagner. She couldn’t hear a thing. Perfect.

Red readied the pistol, firm in a two-handed grip with her finger resting lightly along the trigger guard, and waited. The suppressor made the gun a lot heavier than she was expecting, and the two-handed grip felt more secure.

One disadvantage of the ear get-up was that she couldn’t hear approaching footsteps, either from Anne’s apartment or from anyone in the corridor. She glanced from side to side, but she was clear for the moment. Her focus swung back to the door, and she braced herself.

She was ready when it opened. Maybe it was Anne behind it, maybe it wasn’t, but she’d committed to her plan. Red pushed off her braced legs and hit the door with her shoulder. It flung backwards and she was in. Her eyes quickly swept the apartment: empty, save for Anne who was holding her arm in clear pain. The door had bounced off the wall and swung back to slam shut. Helpful. Also, she hadn’t heard it slam.

She raised the gun and pointed it at Anne, who merely frowned at her in disapproval. She held her arm with her other hand, and her lips moved.

This was the test. Red couldn’t hear Anne’s words. Was that all it took, or would Anne have other tricks up her sleeves? She’d clearly said something, but Red had no clue what. She also felt no overwhelming desire to pull her clothes off and grovel on the floor. Or whatever else Anne might have suggested.

She aimed the pistol at Anne with a straight-armed double-handed stance and carefully glanced around the room. She knew there’d be a mirror; maybe not the mirror, but somewhere Anne would have a mirror. She spied it from the corner of her eye and quickly looked away. It had been above a mantle, nothing obvious in her path. Red carefully walked backward, keeping the gun trained on Anne while keeping the mirror directly behind her.

“Sit down in that chair, Anne.” Red gestured with a nod.

Again Anne looked irritated, and silently mouthed another pithy comment. Typical of the woman; point a gun at her and she scolds you. It was no wonder she was single.

“I said sit down.” Red steadied the gun on Anne’s centre mass. “You know I have nothing to lose; you made sure of that. Don’t fuck around with a woman holding a gun who has nothing left to lose, Anne. If you don’t sit down, or I feel any strange tingles or a sudden compulsion to start licking, I’m going to test if witches die only if burned at the stake, or whether nine rounds in the head from a Beretta 92 also works.”

Anne straightened her shoulders, her lips pressing into the thin line Red had seen before. Again she spoke, and though Red couldn’t hear her, the words she said were easy to lip read: ‘You won’t kill me.’

“Last chance. You’ve got three seconds, and then we’re going to find out if you’re right or not. And I’m not fucking around. One.” Red cocked the hammer, knowing the trigger would have moved into its single-action position.

Anne looked exasperated, but began to move toward the chair Red had indicated.

“Two.” Red was happy with the progress, but a little motivation goes a long way. She followed Anne’s movements with the barrel of the gun.

Anne wasn’t quite seated by the time ‘three’ would’ve come around, but Red made allowances for the obvious pain of her arm and the stiffness of her movement. However old Anne actually was, she had the body of a 40-something, and maybe her arm actually hurt. Good.

Red kept the gun on Anne with one hand and with the other pulled the ball gag from her front pocket. Trent hadn’t need to acquire it; Anne had delivered that part of Red’s equipment herself.

“Put this on. I’m going to give you the count of ten. The gag, or the bullets; one or the other is going in your mouth. You choose.” Red was surprised at herself. She’d anticipated having to fight her nerves, perhaps second-guessing herself when faced with the reality of the situation she’d engineered, but she knew her voice was steady, her tone strong, even if she couldn’t hear it.

Wagner finished; had it been five minutes already? It hadn’t felt even half as long, although she had started the music before she’d knocked on the door. There was a few seconds’ delay before the Valkyries began their ride for a second time, and Red held her breath. Would it be enough for her to hear Anne? It was a risk she’d had to take, but the timing couldn’t have been worse. She breathed a sigh of relief as the music started again, and Anne had said nothing.

She tossed the ball gag onto Anne’s lap. “One.”

Again Anne glared at her, but she picked up the ball gag and began to seat it between her teeth. Red had only reached ‘four’ as Anne reached behind her own head to buckle it in place.

“Make sure that’s tight, dear. Five.”

It was perhaps fortunate that witches couldn’t cast spells with their eyes, for otherwise Red would’ve been in trouble after that comment.

Anne was finished by ‘eight’. Red pulled the bundle of jute rope from her back pocket, the last of her equipment and also thoughtfully provided by Anne. She threw it over.

She’d chosen this chair for a reason: it was wooden, and had arms. “Place your right wrist on the arm of the chair and loop the rope around at least four times. Keep it tight, I’ll be watching. Do I need to count?”

Anne picked up the rope with another glare, and Red watched closely. But it seemed she was obeying as Red had instructed. Red waited until she’d finished then carefully approached from Anne’s right. The barrel of the gun went against Anne’s head and she walked around her slowly, keeping contact all the while. Anne sat still, unmoving, and Red began to think that perhaps her risky plan would work after all.

It took but a moment to wrap the rope around the other wrist, but then came the part where Red had to tie the knot, and that meant releasing the hammer and putting the gun down. Yet Anne sat passively as Red finished, and Red breathed a sigh of relief. She picked up the gun once more.

It was tempting to remove the headset; there was only so much Wagner anyone could take, even with plugged ears, but it was an unnecessary risk. The stakes were simply too high.

Now it was merely a case of finding Anne’s mirror. Anne had never been Red’s target; it was the mirror she’d come to destroy. Red had thought long and hard before deciding she wasn’t a killer, that for better or worse she couldn’t bring herself to kill Anne in cold blood – even if she could somehow get away with it.

Red glanced around the room. She’d only picked up impressions thus far, being rather more focused on Anne. A large dining table, with more chairs similar to the one in which Anne now sat, tied. A three-piece suite set around a glass coffee table. Some doors leading to the rest of the apartment. Behind Red was the mantle, with the mirror above. She didn’t need to see that again.

No sign of the mirror. She’d have to search.

“I’m going to take a look around. I’ll be checking on you regularly. If I see you move, even slightly, we’ll be testing the ‘you can’t die’ theory. Nod if you understand.”

Anne nodded.

Red breathed out slowly. She’d gambled on Anne accepting the ‘nothing to lose’ line, for it was most certainly true. So true, in fact, that Red might even have fired had Anne made a move. She didn’t know; she never wanted to find out. So far Anne had bought Red’s bluff, and that was what mattered.

The first room was the kitchen. Nothing there. She checked Anne hadn’t moved before opening the second door.

The second room was Anne’s bedroom, and immediately Red lowered her eyes. There’d be a mirror in here somewhere, and whether or not it was the mirror she couldn’t take the chance of looking into it. She knew the mirror could control her as well as Anne had done, and that could be disastrous.

She edged slowly into the room, moving her eyes slowly and cautiously. Bed. Dressing table against the wall, and… yes, a mirror in its centre. Red turned her back to it. Another mirror against the far wall, dammit… she had to keep her eyes down. But the mirror she sought didn’t seem to be here, and she backed out slowly closing the door behind her. Her pulse was racing, her breath coming in pants as thought she’d hit the treadmill. Damn, this was tough.

A quick glance into the main room; Anne hadn’t moved. That was a blessing.

Red worked her way through the apartment; it didn’t take long. There was nothing to find.

She’d gambled everything on finding the mirror, on being able to destroy the mirror, and there was nothing here!

Red leant against a wall, the gun down against her leg, her hopes dashed. She felt drained, helpless. Her only recourse was to shoot Anne, and she still didn’t know if she was capable of it. Would Anne stop merely from a threat? Red couldn’t guarantee it, and if Anne was ever again able to compel her, it would be a simple matter to say, ‘You will never threaten me again,’ and that would be the end of it. No, a mere threat wouldn’t work.

She felt tears of frustration prickle her eyes. Where was that fucking mirror?! It hadn’t been in the warehouse, it wasn’t here. Surely it wasn’t still in the other house, across the full length of the country? If it was, this had all been for nothing, and Red was doomed.

She took a steadying breath, and lifted the gun again. One more card to play.

Red walked in, the gun pointed at Anne, and stood in front of her. “I’m going to give you the count of three to nod with your head towards the location of the mirror. And be warned: I’m seriously fucked off.”

Anne simply looked back at her, unmoving. A trail of drool dropped from the ball gag and fell onto her already-damp blouse.

“One.”

No response.

“Two.”

Anne closed her eyes slowly.

“Three.”

The gun went off, the glass coffee table shattered. Anne twitched slightly in reflex, but otherwise unmoving, and her eyes remained closed.

Fuck it! Red felt like screaming. She’d bluffed, and Anne had called. She couldn’t shoot her, she couldn’t find the mirror. It was over.

She sobbed as the frustration swept through her. She was out of options. Her plan had only taken her this far; she’d thought she would find the mirror here.

Red didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t think, even the damn Wagner was getting to her. She longed to pull the headset off, to smash something, to scream. If she left, Anne had won. But what else could she do?

Anne opened her eyes, watching her with a knowing expression. She’d realised Red couldn’t kill her – perhaps she’d known all along. Maybe it was part of her magic, for all Red knew. Or maybe bullets wouldn’t work. Maybe Red had never stood a chance.

Red turned away, unable to look at Anne, and as she did so she inadvertently faced the mirror.

Immediately her gaze was captured. She couldn’t look away. Fuck it, fuck it! The mirror was controlling her, and now she really was completely screwed.

Yet the mirror was showing something… strange. It was Red, dressed in her jeans and hoodie, her headset distinctive, her gun still in her hand, walking across the room to a light fixture on a wall. The Red in the mirror pulled the light fixture and it swung down, and as it did a segment of the wall slid out and along.

Red watched, her eyes wide, and suddenly she was able to move again. A secret room! Had the mirror just helped her?!

It took but a moment to locate the light fixture she’d been shown. She walked to it in measured steps and grasped it with one hand. There was a movement in the corner of her eye; she glanced over. Anne was frantically shaking her head. It was the most emotional display Anne had ever demonstrated.

Red turned away and pulled. As the mirror had shown her, the light fixture came away from the wall as if on a hinge, and directly before Red the wall shifted, then slid slowly to the side.

And there, standing innocuously before a comfortable-looking sofa, stood the mirror Red had first seen in the house, a handful of days and a lifetime ago. As if in slow motion she lifted her gun, spread her feet, steadied her stance, and fired. And fired. The mirror shattered, glass flying about the small secret room, and even the frame splintered as Red emptied the magazine. The gun clicked empty, and Red lowered her arm.

It was over.

She turned to face Anne.

Anne was staring at the shattered mirror behind Red, fixated. And though the ball-gag scrunched up her features, it wasn’t anger or dismay or shock that seemed to be the prevalent emotion, but fear.

Red’s brow furrowed. Why would Anne be afraid…?

Something struck Red from behind, seeming to pass through and then into her. She tried to draw a breath, but couldn’t. For an instant her limbs felt frozen; her heart, her mind, even the very blood in her veins felt like she’d be dipped in liquid helium.

And then all hell exploded.

A blast emanated from Red and tore through Anne’s apartment. Red was dimly aware of the furniture flying away, Anne in her chair knocked over, the end of the sofa near her shredded, the mirror above the mantel shattered, and then she was falling, her sight dimming, and there was nothing but blackness.

*

Consciousness came back slowly. Red realised she was lying crumpled on the floor and tried to stand, but she couldn’t move. She was also conscious of the carpet on which she lay, and it was bare skin that pressed into it. Which meant she was naked… not a good sign. Had Anne somehow got free and compelled her again?

No… she could see Anne’s chair before her, still upturned, and Anne struggling to free herself, one arm already loose.

And then she realised she wasn’t naked, per se; her clothes were still on her, merely shredded to the point where only remnants of the fabric remained.

Red’s body slowly stood, and yet she’d made no effort to do so. One hand picked a large piece of what was left of her hoodie from her arm, and dropped it on the floor, but Red hadn’t controlled it.

You’re not in control anymore. I am.

Red couldn’t speak, couldn’t reply. She couldn’t even scream.

Thank you for freeing me, Red. For too long I’ve been in that cursed mirror.

Her body walked towards Anne’s chair, and Red could only watch. It was as if she was merely a passenger. She felt the carpet under her feet, yet couldn’t affect where she stepped. She was aware of her breathing, aware of her pulse – a slow, steady beat. Much slower than usual. Yet she couldn’t so much as wiggle a finger.

“Greetings, Anneliese. It has been some time,” Red’s voice came from her own mouth, but she’d said nothing. She was a prisoner in her own mind. The desire to scream was overwhelming.

Be quiet, Red. Let me deal with Anneliese. We’ll talk in a moment.

Anne was lying on the carpet in the remnants of the chair. Her skin showed bloody flecks in numerous places, but clearly the explosion of power had a short range; while Red’s clothing had been completely shredded, and the end of the sofa near where she’d stood had all-but dissolved, Anne’s clothes were merely torn. One arm was free of the rope, and her fingers were working at the buckle of the gag. She spat it out as Red watched.

“Aelirith,” and Anne’s tone was full of fear. “You fool! You freed her! And now… now she has you.”

“Indeed. It seems our respective situations have changed, witch. How long have I waited for this moment.”

Anne’s fingers scrabbled desperately at the rope binding her other wrist, but Red’s body – or Aelirith, as Anne had called her - merely leant down, a hand reaching to the arm of the chair, and the wood crumbled in her fist. Aelirith pulled the rope free, tossing it away.

Anne scrambled to her knees in the ruins of the chair, kneeling on the carpet before Red.

“Forgive me, please,” and rarely had Red witnessed a more abject creature.

Aelirith laughed, and the laugh sounded just like Red’s own. “I believe the correct response is ‘I am not the forgiving type, dear.’”

“Have mercy… I beg you.”

Red – Aelirith – smiled. “You still have your uses, witch. And with the mirror destroyed, you have nothing with which to bind me again. I will let you live… for today. You have a debt to repay, if it takes you the rest of your life.”

Anne suddenly let out a keening sob, and for a moment Red mistook it as a sound of relief. “My life! My youth!” Anne cried, and another violent sob wracked her body.

“I’m sure you’ll find another way. I know you still have the demon books. You’ve always been resourceful, Anneliese.”

Anne merely sobbed, not acknowledging Aelirith’s words.

“Oh… before I leave… a compulsion for you. One you would have been wise to use yourself. Listen closely, dear. You are never to raise a hand to me again. You are forbidden from harming me, directly, indirectly, or through lack of thought, word or deed.” Red’s head nodded. “That should hold you until I am ready to deal with you.”

Fuck, I’m hungry. What is there to eat around here?

Red would’ve blinked in surprise if she could still control her eyes.

Red? What is there to eat around here?

Anne was still sobbing on the carpet.

Red? You just have to think.

Red didn’t know what to think. Her body was clearly no longer hers, but she was still… here. Somehow. In her own mind.

Yes. We’re sharing it now. Well… now it’s mine, but you’re still here. I guess you could say we’re roomies. Besties. Best friends… forever. A hint of laughter followed the thought. I’m hungry.

Red focused, thinking hard. There’s… um… I think I saw a 7-11 near the apartment.

We can find food there?

Um… yes. It was like thinking aloud. Not difficult once she’d got the hang of it. Please may I ask… who are you?

I am Aelirith, as you probably gathered. But that’s a name for another eon, another place. Call me… Air. No, Ali. Yes. Call me Ali.

And… um… what are you?

Enough with the ‘um’ this and ‘um’ that, Red. We’re going to be together a while, and it’s already tedious. Don’t be so tentative. Show some backbone, will you?

Sorry.

I’m a succubus. I’m a demon. I control through seduction and sex, and it was through me that Anne was able to compel you… as she had many others, for a very long time.

Oh. Well, that explained… everything, actually. Almost everything. Why?

Because in return for the sexual energy, I was able to grant her eternal youth.

Red looked down at Anne through Aelirith – Ali’s – eyes. What will happen to her now?

Oh, she’ll find a way. I wouldn’t worry about Anneliese. Or Anne, I suppose I should call her. Names are such transient things.

What will happen to me now?

Let’s worry about that later. I’ve been stuck in that cursed mirror for three centuries, and I’m famished.

So… you’re the one who has been controlling me through the mirrors!

Yes. That was obvious, right? Again Ali sounded amused, and Red realised she could sense her amusement too – as though she could read her mind. Which she could, because it was her mind. Their mind. It was fucking confusing is what it was.

Red’s body – or Ali, as she now was – made her way across Anne’s apartment and pulled open the door. Outside in the corridor stood a janitor, his cleaning trolley beside him, a vacuum cleaner in one hand.

He turned and looked at Red, his eyes widening as he took in her nakedness.

Ali smiled. “Oh my gosh, you’re perfect!”

“¿Qué?”

“Eres perfecto! ¿Tienes que limpiar ahora mismo? Puedo pensar en… cosas más interesantes que hacer." Red didn’t speak a word of Spanish, but apparently Ali shared no such shortcoming, and though Red didn’t know the language, they shared one mind. She knew exactly what Ali had said: ‘Do you have to clean right now? I can think of… more interesting things to do.’

Ali slowly stroked her fingers down between her breasts, and Red felt every touch as though it was her own fingers. And it was. But it wasn’t. And it was a complete mind-fuck.

The janitor watched, his eyes wide.

Ali took one nipple between her fingers, and twisted sharply. That hurts, thought Red.

Ali made a little gasp of arousal. Trust me, that’s not pain. Besides, I know you enjoyed that flogger.

Red sighed within her mind. Great, I’m in here with a sadomasochist.

I’d be offended, but… well, I’m a succubus. I like all sorts of things. Oh, and I can hear everything you think.

Red decided she’d just stay quiet.

I heard that.

“What did you have in mind?” the janitor asked. Sure it was in Spanish, but if Ali could understand it, Red could too.

*

A brief while later Red/Ali walked out of the apartment block wearing the uniform of a janitor. His overalls had been too large, but with the belt knotted around Red/Ali’s slim waist, they would do.

Red had found it difficult to persuade Ali to put on clothes. She’d thought about social proprietary, fashion, images of other people being dressed, and the concept of being arrested. Ali had quite enjoyed the latter, considering the possibilities of handcuffs, prison cells, cavity searches and dominant policemen. Red had needed to explain that if that happened they couldn’t simply leave when they wished; they’d be trapped again.

Ali had scoffed at the idea of mere bars and walls holding them, but she’d quietened after Red had explained the concept of wanted posters.

It seemed Ali knew many things instinctively – such as Spanish – but had some gaps when it came to, well, the twenty-first century.

There were quite a few stares as they walked bare-foot down the street, but Red had needed to compromise, and so the overalls were unzipped down almost to their navel, and much of Red’s breasts were now fully on display.

Don’t you just love all these looks? It makes me even more horny, and I’m still so hungry.

We just ate. It hadn’t taken long to realise that the 7-11 didn’t sell the kind of food Ali wanted.

Oh, Manuel was an appetiser. He came so quickly. And I know just how much you enjoyed the taste of his cum.

Red couldn’t deny the truth of that. Why did you have to drain him?

I’m a succubus, honey.

Yes, but… you could’ve killed him.

And I still don’t know why I let you stop me.

Red focused hard. You can’t just go around killing people.

I can do whatever I want. Ali stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, one hand slipping inside the overalls, her fingers caressing their breast. A man in a suit did a double-take as he walked by.

Can you feel that, Red? She flicked their finger over their nipple.

Yes. But we can’t…

Do you like it?

…Yes. Red could feel Ali’s arousal, but it was her arousal too. They blended together. You know I do.

Yes. I know you do. We’re going to be together a while… decades… centuries, maybe. She ran their hands down their body, and Red felt every touch as though she’d done it herself. This body won’t age with me at its helm. You can come along for the ride and share the experience, or go quietly mad in the corner of our mind… in which case I’ll just shut you out. It’s up to you, really. Are you up for some fun?

Will you kill people?

Ali began walking again, What difference does it make? Everyone dies.

Red was silent for a moment.

You’re not silent at all, sweetie. Ali thought to her, I can still hear what you’re thinking. You’re worried that killing is wrong, which is ridiculous of course.

It is wrong! Red insisted to her. Why couldn’t Ali see that?

It’s just killing, Red. People die every day. People die while we’ve been walking down this street.

If we kill people, I’ll go mad. Oh, maybe not immediately, but… eventually. The weight of all those deaths will drive me insane. I know it will. Is that what you want? To spend eternity with me insane in the corner of your mind?

The succubus sighed, and Red felt it both mentally and physically. Very well. I make no promises, but… we’ll try an ‘only if I have to’.

I’m going to need promises, Red countered.

Ali laughed, drawing some strange looks from those around her. You’re a pushy thing. I like that. Ok… I promise not to kill someone unless we need to for our safety and survival.

Red felt a sense of success. She might only be a passenger in her body, but at least she’d got Ali to concede that commitment. Small wins.

And yet, as she had the thought, she sensed Ali’s response too. Something she’d said had alarmed the succubus. What was it?

You didn’t alarm me. I’m the one in control.

But that wasn’t true either. Ali was alarmed, she could tell.

“But you always were a perceptive one, weren’t you dear?”

Ugh, Ali thought, did you just have a memory recall from Anne in my head? I feel like I threw up in my mouth.

Red giggled inside her head… which felt weird. And then she focused.

Stop it, Ali thought.

She focused harder.

Ali stopped walking, and slowly, inexorably, her hand came to rest on the zipper of their overalls. And pulled it up. An inch. And another. Then it slid all the way to the top.

Red was pushed back, as if shoved into a corner.

Don’t do that, Ali thought at her.

But she’d made her point. She didn’t need to try again. It was enough that she had, that she could.

Fine, fine. So you can fight me for control and manage to zip us up a bit more. Ali pulled the zip down far enough to show a healthy amount of cleavage once more.

But Red knew it was more than that. She’d grow stronger over time. She could contest Ali. She might even be able to…

No. Stop right there. That you will never be able to do. I’m centuries older than you, honey, and I will win. But… I don’t want us to fight. Let’s make this easy. We’re sharing this mind, this body. Will you agree to a 50:50? Cooperation, not competition?

Do I get a say in what we do?

The succubus smiled, physically, emotionally and mentally: her lips moved, while Red simultaneously received a strong impression of amusement. Sure, why not. We’re going to be together for a very long time – may as well be friends. I don’t mind suggestions, but I’m in control. I get the veto. You do the advice-thing, and I’ll do the decision-thing. We’ll listen to each other, and find the balance that works for us both. How does that sound?

It sounds like 30:70, not 50:50.

Ali grinned. 49:51, ok?

Immortality… to see the world change, to experience all that would happen, to do so alongside a being as powerful as this. It was not the life Red had ever envisioned… but it was far from a bad one.

What the hell. Sounds good to me. And hey… if you’re still looking for someone to drain… do you remember Alfie?

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