Her parents, beaming as they opened the door, looked exactly the same.

“Maeve, dear!” her mom cooed, overly enthusiastic as she always was when they were hosting guests. “You don’t have to knock! Come in!”

She smiled weakly. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. This is… my friend, Castian.”

“Very nice to meet you, Castian,” her mother said politely. She was doing a pretty good job of hiding the fact that she clearly thought that he was Maeve’s suitor.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. and Mrs. Loravyr,” Castian smiled.

They entered the house, dropping their bags on the table near the entranceway and making their way to the spacious and elegantly decorated sitting room.

“I hope our daughter hasn’t been causing trouble for you,” her dad said.

Castian laughed -- a courteous response to her father, but a private and mean joke to Maeve.

Oh, she hated this.

“None at all,” Castian replied. “She’s told me of her mischievous past, but I can hardly believe those stories are of her.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” her mom quipped.

“I am right here, you know,” Maeve said.

Everyone shared a laugh, but Maeve was uneasy. They all sat down on the couch and chairs -- Castian mercifully sitting away from her.

“How is your work going, Maevelyn?” her dad asked.

She suppressed wincing at her full name -- and looking to see Castian’s sure smirk. “It’s going very well. The first stretch before ranking up was difficult, but you know I’m persistent. Now I’m very close with several members of the guild, and we work quite well together.”

“Are you really making due with the job?” her father asked.

“Yes,” she insisted. “Plenty to feed and house myself.”

“And what do you do for work, dear?” her mom asked, addressing Castian.

“Ah,” Castian said. “I’m a bartender. It’s humble work, but I often feel that I have the best job in the whole town.”

Maeve immediately recalled him serving the enchantment potions at Foxtail, the patrons swaying and softly giggling… He was using at least a partial truth…

“Oh, how nice,” her mother said, only the tiniest sliver of judgment peeking through her voice.

“That’s actually how Castian and I became acquainted,” Maeve said -- an easy lie, and one that would give her some control over the narrative. “I came to his bar for a drink one night after work.”

“We had a rousing chat that evening,” Castian replied smoothly, smiling at her. “We often meet for drinks nowadays.”

“I’m glad you’ve found some community, Maeve,” her dad said, and it was hard not to feel a little bit of warmth from it, even as he sort of spoke to her like she was still a child.

The conversation was shockingly easy as they sat. She recounted a couple tales from her guild (leaving out the gory details) and her parents talked of how their work was going. Maeve saw Castian’s eyebrows raise slightly as they explained that they worked at the Academy doing magic research. But he didn’t so much as look at her to show that he’d gained a bit of information useful for manipulating her. (She could instantly imagine him talking later about what kind of complexes she’d developed from that.)

In fact, he was unbelievably well-behaved. No flirtatious comments about her to play into her mother’s suspicions, no private looks, and only a couple of statements that held hidden double meanings. It was going incredibly smoothly.

Was this somehow… his plan? Getting on her parents’ good side?

After a bit, her parents excused themselves to the kitchen to fix dinner -- a fast process when done by two expert mages. But she and Castian were left alone in the sitting room for a moment.

Maeve looked at him.

His lips curved up. “You look nervous. Am I not performing to your standards?”

“Shut up,” she whispered, flushing.

They all sat at the table and she and Castian marveled politely over the food -- perfectly cooked poultry adorned with mashed berries, a platter of greens, and steaming potatoes. Maeve did miss her parents’ cooking, and she took herself a heaping plate.

“Oh,” her mother said as they began eating. “I did see Professor Wynoake the other day and mentioned that you were coming -- I’m sure he’d love it if you paid him a visit while you were here.”

“I’m sure he would,” Maeve said, perhaps a bit too curtly.

“Maeve,” her dad said. “We don’t mean anything by it. Just that it is a unique opportunity.”

There was a moment of tense silence.

“Where did you go to college, Castian?” her mother asked -- failing miserably at changing the topic.

Oh -- that was an interesting if slightly insensitive question. Was she going to learn something about him? Or would he lie?

He smiled. “I didn’t, actually. I grew up too far away from one. I taught myself magic the old-fashioned way, though -- I was obsessed with the library’s tomes on it.”

…Impossible to tell if that was true.

“Fascinating,” her father said, and Maeve saw the look of curiosity in his eye, as obsessed as he was with the arcane. “Do you get to use it much, tending bars?”

“You may be surprised to hear that I do,” Castian smiled. “Of course an easy way to pour many drinks on a busy night. But I also get to do more complex things with it.”

“Do tell!” her mom said.

Of course, as magic-workers, they wanted to hear about the details.

“There is an art to the perfect cup of liquor,” Castian said. “How it is exposed to the air; the state of the vessel. There is boundary magic I cast that allows just the right touch of air -- between liquid and glass, letting it breathe right…”

Maeve realized as he spoke that the room had fallen silent except for his voice, not even the sound of fork and plate, and at once, her heart began hammering hard. She saw her parents staring, attention fixed intently on Castian -- barely blinking -- 

No -- NO --

“So the spell controls the surface tension,” he continued, just slightly softer. “Allowing the drink to refine to its full body by easing the barrier to the air as I pour it, and as it just sits there patiently while I pour another…”

Fury, panic rose within Maeve as she saw her mother and father sitting almost frozen, utensils held in midair by unmoving hands, her mother’s lips slightly parted, her father’s jaw just a bit slack, their eyes with a gentle and developing glaze -- they had no idea -- they had no idea what he was doing because it wasn’t magic --

“And so something as simple as that, so each glass has just enough time to settle and absorb, before being drunk down,” Castian said, and his lips were curving up now.

He was torturing her. He was making her watch this -- this feeling of horror, disgust, betrayal -- the awful, automatic, helpless tingling while watching him -- it was her parents slipping unwittingly into his words -- her parents --

The look on his face was so familiar; easy, lazy, and in complete control.

“I love magic for its potential for subtlety,” he continued. “And how that subtlety can so powerfully affect the quality of a thing. Don’t you think?”

She needed to stop this --

“Yes,” her mom said, just slightly breathy.

“That’s right,” Castian smiled.

Maeve stood -- fast, scraping her chair against the floor and rattling the table. Immediately, everyone turned to look at her.

Her parents, confused and a little dazed.

Castian, an immensely cruel sadism playing in his eyes and lips.

“...Sorry,” she forced out. “I need to use the restroom.”

And she walked quickly, quickly away.

Maeve stayed in the restroom for far too long, running cold water over her hands and splashing it onto her face, trying desperately to calm herself enough to return to the dinner table.

She was trapped. She couldn’t say anything. And she couldn’t stop him.

This -- this was what he had planned. Transfixing her parents right in front of her. Making her watch.

Fuck.

She should have interrupted sooner. She should have made a fuss, an excuse. Anything. It had just happened so fast -- she couldn’t believe he had done it --

And she hated him -- hated herself -- for the untouchable, unavoidable, horrible little feeling of pleasure from mind control that had so deeply threaded itself into her, so deeply that it made itself known, even then -- in the worst situation, and at the worst time, mingled with revulsion…

She considered going straight to bed. The idea of leaving Castian alone with her parents made her uncomfortable, but she was nearly certain that the enjoyment he was getting from manipulating them came from her being there to see it. She was sure that they weren’t actually in danger.

Finally, she made her way back down the hall -- the sounds of the three of them laughing merrily were coming from the sitting room.

“I’m sorry,” she began, rounding the corner, “I think my stomach is a little --”

There was a deck of cards on the table in the middle of the couches and chairs, and all three of them had a hand.

…Was she having a nightmare?

“Oh, sweetie,” her mom said. “Need me to help?”

Fuck, her parents were fucking mages who knew fucking healing spells --

“I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, Maeve,” Castian said, sounding concerned. “I hope you don’t miss out on a game; I know you love cards.”

If she stayed, she would have to watch and participate in this. If she went to bed, they would still be playing and she would be fully aware of it.

There was no way to win.

…She couldn’t let her parents see her upset.

“Thanks, mom,” Maeve said, trying to smile. “I think I’m just tired from the trip. I’m going to go lay down, if that’s alright. Sorry, everyone.”

“Okay,” her dad said. “Let us know if you want to come join us later.”

“Let me help you take our bags upstairs,” Castian said, moving to get up.

…She couldn’t refuse.

“Feel free to take the empty guestroom, Castian,” her mom called after them. “Maeve will show you where it is.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Silently, they ascended the stairs with their luggage.

Maeve felt helpless and furious, wordlessly opening the door to her bedroom and the guestroom to show Castian where to go. Seeing her old room should have filled her with comfort and nostalgia, but she just felt so stuck. She sat on the bed and held her head in her hands, trying to breathe.

She heard footsteps entering and the door closing, and she looked up to glare at Castian with tears prickling her eyes.

“You --” she squeezed out. “How could you…”

There was something about this, being in her childhood home and being around her parents that made her really almost think for a second that Castian -- a guest in her hometown -- might comfort her.

But he smiled.

“It was worth it, right?” he purred, and the self-loathing that emerged as she felt warmth blossom through her abdomen was so strong and sharp. “It was worth it for me to come. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Please, stop,” she said, her voice cracking with a sob.

He approached her, towering over her as she sat. He reached out to lift her chin, and despite everything, she couldn’t resist as he leaned down to kiss her.

His mouth was so hot.

At first she felt overwhelmed with regret and uncertainty, and wondered what Castian and her parents were doing downstairs -- was he just toying with them out of earshot? Was he fabricating stories about her?

And was there some way she could have avoided this altogether -- not letting him manipulate her in the first place or come at all? Some hidden option she hadn’t seen?

The discomfort of the present as well as the horrible vividness of the earlier events was strong. Her own response -- to seeing that -- left her wracked with guilt.

But her head just went around in circles, and she was so worn mentally. Her childhood bed was so much more comfortable than the hard mattresses at the Dove that it was only a bit of time before she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

She was awoken in the pitch black of night by the sound of her door quietly creaking open and then closing again. Her eyes scanned the darkness to see Castian, walking lightly towards the bed.

“No,” she whispered harshly. “No -- please -- the walls are so thin --”

“Then you’ll have to be quiet,” he murmured with a smile, and crawled in to join her.

Immediately he pulled her body into him and caught her mouth in a kiss.

The sleep still heavy over her made the touch of his lips and body feel tingly and sensitive. He wore only a light shirt and undergarments and she could feel the outline of his cock pressing against her hip, his leg swinging over her to draw her in further.

She felt like she was melting. She couldn’t believe he was doing this -- after everything, even though she had even had imagined that he would come to her late at night, now it felt like he was taking advantage of her after beating her down. It was like he couldn’t let her feel just pleasure from his touch -- he needed her to feel conflict and emotional pain. 

Castian drew back and ran a hand down from her neck, over her collarbone, down to her breast to squeeze. Her body responded with sickening delight, like he was using the pleasure of gently tugging on her nipple to wear her down to nothing.

“How did you like the show?” he whispered, leaning in to drag his lips across her neck and ear. “Was it how you fantasized?”

“No --” she whimpered. “Please -- it was horrible -- please don’t --”

“You look just like that, you know.” His hand smoothed down her side to her hip, reaching around to squeeze her ass. “Dazed, wide eyes… soft jaw, staring… I can see the family resemblance…”

His words cut deep, twisting inside, and she shut her eyes tight as though to escape.

“They were easy to manipulate, as well,” he murmured. “Just like their daughter.”

“Stop,” she breathed. “Please --”

Castian made a pleased humming noise against her and his fingers dipped below the waistband of her underwear, resting right above her pussy, radiating heat and promise.

“Are you jealous?” he purred. “Did you want to be the one staring blankly at me as I spoke?”

The tips of his fingers were drawing little circles, teasing just above. No matter the context, his question opened a vast yearning inside of her. She was gasping quietly, the stifling humiliation and sexual touch making her feel dangerously weak.

“I bet you want that now. I bet you’d eagerly welcome an enchantment wiping you out, letting you escape…”

She felt -- his hand sliding lower, just fingertips dipping down and barely rubbing the most sensitive part of her -- arcane energy gathering -- against her -- in his fingers --

The very concept of the control spell against her pussy was shutting her down, utterly nothing she could do against the desire for that spilling through her --

“What would they think of you right now?” Castian murmured. “A wet mess at the mercy of a man…”

“Ah -- ah --” Her hips were pushing up now, needing him to touch more than just feather-light strokes against her, losing grip on what he was even saying…

“They would think themselves justified for not wanting you to leave,” he whispered. “They were right, after all, weren’t they? You left home and immediately got so far in over your stupid little head.”

“C-Castian,” she whimpered.

“Deep down, you know why I manipulated them,” he murmured. “I can control any part of your life that I want, Maeve. Nothing is safe.”

His fingers rubbed more firmly now; hot, melting pleasure spreading all through her pussy to her thighs and stomach and up to her brain, even the arcane heat of the spell mingling with it. She was trying desperately to stay silent, shaking, dangerously close to cumming already, his cruel words true enough to push her further --

“The look of horror on your face,” Castian said wistfully. “The recognition. The arousal. I fantasized about it. All of that to turn me on.”

His hips pushed into her side, his cock rubbing insistently against her. He leaned into her ear, his breath heavy and hot.

“Just a treat,” he whispered, and she felt the enchantment in his fingers cast.

The magic sunk through into her pussy, each and every part of it and all the way up inside suddenly frozen at the peak of her pleasure, all of the muscles contracting effortlessly, squeezing, a breath away from cumming -- the spell slowly creeping through the rest of her, up her stomach, down her thighs --

Too slow -- too slow, she needed it faster, harder -- her breath caught in her throat, tense, threatening to escape --

“‘Atta girl,” he murmured, and she felt him press harder against her.

Tingling finally reaching her toes and fingertips, up her neck, to her mouth, softening; eyes, rolling, and…

Her mind, losing all resistance, all will in a perfect instant of bliss as the spell crept fully into all of the corners in her deepest parts.

“Now,” Castian whispered, “cum.”

Magic surged in her body, tensing her muscles, squeezing and flooding pleasure between her legs, higher, deeper, peaking -- moaning openly, louder as she felt her body cum -- brain-blanking, whiting-out, thought-dissolving pleasure --

And then perfectly still again in an instant.

Empty. Throbbing.

Castian withdrew his hand from her underwear and brushed his thumb over her soft lips. She could do nothing but stare, eyes helplessly fixed upwards as he began to sit up, untangling himself from her and the bed.

“Do you think you would have cum that hard if I hadn’t controlled your parents in front of you?” he murmured, smiling cruelly.

She couldn’t think, but she felt a sinking feeling of despair in her spell-laden body.

“Sleep, Maeve,” he said, and she obeyed, a soporific haze clouding her into dreams.