1

When my opponent flashed the band from within his cloak, time seemed to slow. It was obvious, even in the shadows, what it was: a thick, dark metal band with silvery inlay and a single, large gemstone. It was only visible for a moment but I continued to stare at the spot where it had been as a prickling sensation crept through my body, from my toes to the pointed tips of my ears.

I came back to the present, finally meeting the gaze of Paul, the grinning human who faced me across the table. The roar and hubbub of the tavern which I had briefly been deaf to, seemed to rise in pitch as the word spread through the crowd that had gathered around us about the highly illegal Volu slave collar that had just been spotted.

The crowd was not there for reasons I enjoy dwelling on: the card game we were playing had got, shall we say, out of hand. Quite a long way out of hand. As in, I owed Paul more money than I had, more than I was likely to earn in a good year, and I was out of options. I saw some smirks pass between some of our audience, stifled gasps from others. Though my mouth had gone drier than the Nendrir desert, I choked out a quip: “are you betting your jewellery, now?”

The crowd guffawed - everyone loves a fighting spirit from the underdog. Not that I intended to be the underdog for long. Paul replied, “well I thought since you seem to be in a spot if difficulty” - chuckles from behind me - “I’d be magnanimous. If you lose another round, I’ll give you this - very valuable - trinket as thanks for your company. I’ll even put it on you myself.” The gasps were drowned out by another round of laughter. Everyone knew that it was putting on the collar which activated whatever accursed magic fueled the thing and shackled the wearer’s will to that of whomever had snapped it closed.

“How generous,” I said, drily. “And if I win?”

“If you win?” Paul said, a touch sarcastically, leaning across the small table until his face was near to mine. I concentrated on not flinching. He lowered his voice, but not so much people couldn’t hear, and said, “if you win, I’ll let you leave here unharmed and… unblemished.” He looked me up and down unsubtly. A chorus of jeers spread through the crowd as they heard the terrible deal he’d offered: I owed a lot of money, but Volu slaves weren’t cheap either.

“Fuck that,” I spat, and the jeers turned to cheers in an instant. I was in no position to bargain, except that I had the crowd on my side. For now. Sort of. I caught a few ogling me who would probably be happier to see me lose. An elf was a rare sight this far north and humans apparently couldn’t get enough of us. I was short for my kind, average for a human. Small-chested for a human, though busty for us. But none of that mattered because elven grace - the fluidity of our movements, the elegance in every part of our bodies from fine ankles to sculptured necks - entranced them all the same. As I could tell right now, wishing I hadn’t taken my heavy cloak off in the close, smoky atmosphere of the inn.

Nevertheless, Paul smiled. “Very well. If you win the next round, I’ll give you the entire pot. How does that sound?” Objectively it was still a terrible deal. But the chance not only to get out of the hole but to win everything? It sure sounded like a good deal if you only ignored the inconsequential possibility of inescapable slavery. The crowd cheered even louder, no doubt drawing in even more onlookers as it rose again when I nodded my agreement and a pit opened in my stomach. What was I thinking? There were ways out of gambling debts… Paul passed me the cards to deal. My heart thudded in my chest and the blood rushed in my ears as I shuffled the battered deck, drowning out the quietening babble.

I lost the round, of course; I was so distracted with images of the collar snapping shut around my elegant, brown neck that I played terribly. Embarrasingly so. I looked at the table, unable to meet Paul’s gaze. I’m sure he was still grinning as he walked around to my side of the table, whispering in my ear and sending a shiver through me in the process. “Let’s make this part quick, shall we?” I shook my head, dumbly - not to contradict him, but just in disbelief. How could I have been this stupid? There was nowhere to run - the crowd had turned and hemmed us in all around, jeering and exchanging more than a few lewd suggestions. I saw him withdraw the collar again, getting a better look at it this time. It was smooth, but the dark metal was very dull compared to the shiny inlay. It was at least an inch tall and looked heavy and uncomfortable. I didn’t resist as he lifted my long, silver hair and passed it over the collar and, before I could think any more about it, consider running, or begging or bargaining, slammed it shut.

I expected there to be more of an immediate effect, but all I felt was a prickling where it touched my neck, the same sense of doom that had been rising before it had been put on, and the sensation of magic to which all elves are attuned. I looked around at the assembled onlookers staring expectantly. My heart hammered. Paul also eyed them with a smirk, enjoying the tension. He put his arm around my shoulders in a companionly embrace and said, as much to me as to the masses, pausing between each word, “unlace! your! shirt!”

Before I could even process the words, the gathered crowd was roaring in approval. The sensation washed over me in the same moment, a tugging of the mind and of the limbs that I could do naught to ignore. As I dumbly did his bidding, all thoughts of stopping popping like bubbles before they even surfaced, I felt myself flush a deep red. I stared at the floor when the lacing was undone and my arms fell to my sides. I tried not to think about how I would feel at his next command.

The cheers turned to boos as they realised I hadn’t exposed myself, but suddenly hushed. Before I could understand what was going on, Paul was talking urgently to me, just audible above the hubbub: “if anyone asks, you’re a whore and the collar is a prop to drum up business. Do anything you can to make them fuck off.” Then a voice boomed over us all:

“What in the Abyss is going on here?! Did you put that thing on her?” The landlord, a burly, greying man whose scars stood testament to his ability and willingness to throw people out glared at Paul. Before he could answer I felt the tugging again, and words started to tumble from me.

“Please sir, allow me to explain,” I heard myself say in a sultry voice, stepping uncomfortably close to the large man, using my shoulders to emphasise my unlaced shirt. It was at this point I realised the true depth of power the collar had. I was making every effort to put into action the vague instruction Paul had given me. My mind was forced to turn its faculties to the interpreting and enacting the whims of another.

The landlord fixed his stare on me and I, before he could look away, put my arm around him. “Look,” I said quietly and conspiratorially, “I’m just trying to make a living here - the rabble love it, see? He puts this collar on me and I pretend I have to do whatever he says.” As the words poured unbidden from me the pit in my stomach gaped ever deeper. Inwardly I was screaming the truth at this would-be rescuer, but my mouth would not cooperate. Volu slavery was not tolerated outside their lands, at least not among good, honest people. I detected a moment of uncertainty on the barman’s face and reluctantly pressed the advantage. “I can always give you a freebie if it’ll help,” I said, and twitched my shirt to give him a view of one breast.

He made a noise of disgust and stomped away, calling over his shoulder, “Rooms are two shilling a night. Don’t fuck in the bar!” The crowd cheered as he went, but more subdued compared to before.

Recovering quickly from the interruption, Paul began to whip them up again. “Right, where were we? Was there anything else we wanted?” I knew what they would say even before they roared the words:

“SHOW US YOUR TITS!”

I felt filthy as I instinctively glanced to Paul. It wasn’t the collar; I just knew that it was from him my next instruction would come. “Go on, slave,” he said, lowering his voice for effect. I pulled the unlaced halves of my shirt to the side, giving everyone a view of my dark nipples. Lusty cheers and thumping on tables filled the air as a blush spread from my cheeks to the tops of my breasts and the tips of my ears. Even with my mind so shackled, my body responded instinctively, something which I found strangely heartening. “Now then!” cried Paul, shouting over the crowd, waiting until they quietened. He spoke slowly, pausing for effect, “what… am I bid… for… one night!”

The crowd’s shouts again rose to a fever pitch, values in the local currency of shillings, rising to crowns, promises of precious metal, I even think I heard someone offer their own wife and daughters in exchange. I should probably have been flattered. The auction of a single night of access to me quickly separated the serious contenders from the rabble as the amounts being offered rapidly rose above what the rabble could even pretend to afford. The three were all human men - two northerners and one clearly from somewhere further south, a merchant I guessed. One of the northerners was similarly well-dressed, the other, who bore the sign of the cutler’s guild, rougher. But his serious demeanor and the casual way he discussed such sums of money lent him credibility.

It was testament to Paul’s showmanship that the bidding got so high for what amounted to a single night of prostitution. Eventually the better-dressed northerner won the bidding, a few whispered words - but no money - passed between him and Paul, and Paul went to find the landlord to pay for a room, leaving me with an instruction to stay put. While he was gone, the man approached me. His face bore a neutral expression as he inspected me more closely. The onlookers had started to drift off now the shared illusion of having a chance at me was gone, but a few still watched and chuckled as my winner tried to touch me and I slapped his hands away. For now at least, he had no power over me.

My minor triumph did not last, as Paul returned and gestured us towards the stairs leading to the upper rooms. As he ushered the man through a door, he once again put his arm around my shoulders. “Now girl, until sun-up you’re going to follow his instructions as if they were mine, do you understand?” I nodded, dumbly. “The exception is if it would allow yourself or others to come to harm. And you won’t leave this tavern without me.” I wondered, as these commands sank indelibly into my mind, how many times Paul had done this already, to know exactly what to say. “And finally, even without his instructions, you’re going to please him any way you can, and you’re going to love it.” With that, he pushed me gently through the door and closed it behind me. It didn’t have a lock.

2

I looked around the room. A low fire burned in the hearth, casting a flickering light across the small space. I’d stayed in worse accommodation though - the bed looked sturdy, the floor had relatively fresh rushes, and a chipped mirror hung on one wall above an off-white basin. Paul’s commands fought with my instincts as I looked at my owner for the night, standing in front of the bed. Although I was a little taller than him, he cut an imposing figure. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Liandra, sir,” I replied, demurely. I’m quite sure I wouldn’t have called him “sir” without magical influence.

“Wrong!” he barked, startling me. “Your name is ‘slave’,” he said. “What is your name?”

“It is ‘slave’, sir,” I said, without no hesitation whatsoever. I struggled to remember what my name truly was. It’s Liandra, dammit! Or, wait… was it… slave? Slave. Liandra. Aargh!

A slight smile touched his features. “Good. Very good, slave.” The praise made my heart flutter. “Come over here.” I advanced three paces towards him. His hair was wavy and fell over his ears, and he wore a close-trimmed beard - still fashionable here in the north. A scattering of grey belied his age. He had a wide nose and pale eyes. “Touch yourself, slave,” he said, very quietly. Oh… Gods… suddenly the reality was very much here. I felt my left hand pass smoothly under my unlaced shirt and caress my breast. It wasn’t as if it was moving on its own… it was my mind that moved my limb, but another power that moved my mind as deftly as any puppeteer. My right hand easily unlaced my breeches and slipped in, brushing my sex.

My master watched my hungrily. I put on a good show; no matter how I truly felt, I knew that to please him I needed to make him believe… and while the collar didn’t seem able to make me love it, it could make me tend to myself physically exactly as I needed. Before long I could, despite everything, feel true arousal, my heart and breathing quickening. “Undress me, slave,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth, though I know it would have slid seductively into me had it sounded like iron scraping granite.

I was already standing before him. For the first time, I touched him, my fingers brushing against the hair of his chest as I undid the pearl buttons on his shirt. I could hear his own breathing quicken now and I removed the shirt by sweeping my hands over his pecs. His belt buckle was made of silver and, undone, he assisted me in removing his fur-lined boots and his trousers. He grasped my shoulder firmly, our height disparity disappearing as he pushed me to my knees. He didn’t even have to issue the command - I knew what he wanted. It stood out proudly, although it looked absurd to my eyes; our males’ members are as elegant as the rest of them - refined, slender things, unlike this brutish weapon. Still, I licked eagerly up its length, laved the head as devotedly as I could manage, and was rewarded with a grunt of pleasure. Bracing myself, I opened my mouth as wide as I could and tried to fit as much of it in as possible, which wasn’t much.

I cursed to all the Gods I knew as my unoccupied hand snaked back into breeches to rub myself, my eyelids fluttering at the sensation. At the same time, the man gripped the back of my head and started thrusting into my mouth. I began to panic, conflicting priorities fighting within me. I knew I could push him away, but only if I was at risk of harm. Will this kill me? I’ve got to keep trying! Ghk! Throughout this inner battle I continued masturbating pushing one slender finger under my undergarments to feel the slickness. Before I reached the point of trying to free myself, I felt him swell within me, tense and groan loudly, unloading his seed down my throat. He pushed me back, coming out with a distinct pop. We were both breathing heavily. I dared to think, could this be over so quickly?

“Take the rest of your clothes off,” he said, watching me intently. As they fell to the floor around me, he carried on talking. “I’m paying a lot of money for this night with you, slave. And do you want to know why?” I looked at him in mute confusion, kneeling again on the floor. “Because of this,” he said, holding out a small carved wooden box. I could sense a faint magical aura from it, but nothing more. I must have looked confused, because he smirked before opening it, and I peered inside. I didn’t recognise it at first, but when I did I gasped. “That’s right.” Inside the box was a small device which looked like a compass, made of gold and with a single slender needle, pointing at my bare chest. After that brief look, he closed the box and tossed it on the bed. It was a witch hunter’s thaumometer and must have been incredibly rare and valuable - the witch hunters were long gone. “You see I wouldn’t, normally… But when things started getting interesting down there, and what with you being an elf, I just had to know. And you are… or were, at least… quite powerful, weren’t you… slave?”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

“Exactly. So I thought to myself, when else am I going to get the chance to fuck a bona fide elven sorceress? And who knows what they can do while they’re at it?” Suddenly I could hear nothing but my heart, this man knew too much. What he might do with the power he now had over me… My fears had gone in another direction though, I should never have thought so much of him and he said, hungrily, hoarsely, “make me hard again.”

The feeling of having my magic bent and forced into the service of another was an even greater violation than what had already happened. The impulse to obey overpowered me immediately, but it would take longer to prepare myself to perform the spell. “I need a few minutes’ silence, sir,” I said. He took no issue with this and I started to focus, attaining a state of balance from which it was safe to start gathering magical energy. It was more difficult than usual, of course, but with the collar compelling me I had to do my best. Sat cross-legged on the floor, my master lying on the bed, not looking at me, I eventually gained the requisite state.

I cannot convey the experience of being in that state to a human, though near every adult elf knows it implicitly. There is a hyper-awareness of the ever-present suffusion of magic in all things, a calmness, a tingling, but above all a sense of potential, of all the different things that the energy could do or become, or wanted to. Absolute focus is required to not let that sense overwhelm the user, lest the magic course through their body and leave them in a most unpredictable state, rarely alive.

Sifting through the different potentialities to find the one in which my master’s penis was stiffening was almost trivial. Decades of magical experience… and, I confess, some experimentation near the start of those decades, plus the iron control of the collar, brought it about, and he noticed the effects quickly, rising from the bed and smirking at me. “I see you’re ready. Good. Now slave, I don’t mind an elf whore once in a while but I confess I prefer more meat than you skinny lot. Give yourself some proper tits.”

To say that I did not relish the idea of reshaping my body in the fashion of a human male’s ideal whore would be an understatement. It was also considerably more difficult than producing an erection which, let’s be honest, could have happened on its own, unlikely though that would be. I returned my awareness to the magical realm and, as I did, started chanting in a low voice, using the wordforms to guide me through the outcomes that magic could bring to reality. Most that would enlarge my breasts portended other, highly undesirable, side effects. Eventually I was guided to the right potential and carefully willed it from the potentiality to actuality. The feeling was extremely strange and I looked down to see my chest swelling to its new size. Guided by my orders I had chosen a shape I expected to be pleasing to him, but to my eye they looked ridiculous - far larger than the breasts of any elf I had ever seen.

My master, on the other hand, couldn’t take his eyes - or his hands - off them, drawing me into an embrace and grabbing them with his other hand. I could feel his hardness pressing, insistent, into my thigh, and his eager breath hot on my neck. “Now,” he rasped out, “e-enchant my cock. Make it so any woman who sees it will want me.”

His eyes shone with unconcealed desire, but I had to stammer, “S-sir, I cannot.” His face darkened and he pushed me away.

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“It is not possible. Magic… Elven magic is not capable. O-only the Volu could do such a thing.” He contorted his face and I feared his anger would overcome him but he controlled himself.

“Fine,” he muttered through grated teeth, “never mind. Just… make it bigger… and beautiful. The most beautiful cock imaginable. And when I come I want it to be… incredible.”

I had no idea what the most beautiful penis would look like, especially not for a human, but I didn’t see myself getting a more useful description so let my instincts - as manipulated by my collar - guide me. Once again it took a long time but eventually I eased the new reality into being, his manhood swelled a little, and some subtle changes occurred that even I admit made the mis-proportioned member more appealing. But now his demands seemed to run out.

But that only meant the next phase was beginning. He spun me around and onto the bed, my new breasts squashing against the mattress. I soon felt him against my sex, and I instinctively reached back to slicken it then help guide it in. This was difficult, especially with its enhanced size, and a little uncomfortable for me, though he groaned loudly as I enveloped him. Once again my hand snaked down to pleasure myself. “Yes whore… slave… Touch yourself while I fuck you.” He began to push his full length into me and I involuntarily angled myself to make it feel good.

“Good slave, good whore” he whispered, over and over as he thrust in and out and as my fingers danced over my clit. The first orgasm rolled over me so gently that I was shuddering with it before I realised its significance. As I clenched around him he grunted with his own climax and I felt him spurting into me.

I thought this would be my reprieve, but some of the unpredictability of magic came to bite me. He pulled out of me and lay on the bed, but he still stood proud and hard - my spell must have done more than what he strictly asked for. He motioned for me to climb onto him and I hurried to do so, impaling myself and rapidly working up our rhythm. Again the command to love it was inescapable, and I adjusted myself until he was hitting the sensitive spots I never even knew I had, slamming myself down onto him, twisting my nipples until they hurt. Elves were supposed to be restrained in all things, but I was already moaning wantonly when a second orgasm crashed into me. There was nothing gentle about this one and I tried to muffle my screams with limited success.

We fucked like that for at least an hour, in many different positions. He climaxed twice more, whilst I lost count of my own. When he finally collapsed, exhausted and unresponsive, I lay awake, body still thrumming with arousal, still breathing heavily and covered in sweat. I struggled to understand what I was feeling - horror, of course, at my sudden enslavement, and fear at what would happen to me. But I couldn’t deny that the pleasure I had just experienced as a result had been more intense than any I had experienced before. I didn’t know what would be worse for my sanity - enjoying this or fighting against it.