Cast a Lover's Spell

by Claire Thompson

  “Good girl,” he patted her head. Anne jerked her head and his face darkened. “Don’t do that. You are not to pull away, understand?” Anne knew that voice. But from where? The man sat back down on the chair near the bed. His voice softened with lust as he said, “Jesus, you are fucking hot. I’m going to enjoy your punishment, oh my yes.” He rubbed his hands together and licked his lips in an exaggerated gesture. Anne felt numb with fear.

  Paul. Paul, help me, help me, help me. What was she hoping for? He was across the world.

  “You know, I’ve been so rude, Anne. I haven’t introduced myself. You can call me Greg.” He smiled cruelly as Anne’s eyes widened.

  “You—you know my name. My husband’s name…”

  “You want me to marry you so soon? And this, our first date.” The man who called himself Greg laughed again. “Yes, I know your name.” He held up her slim wallet he must have retrieved from her purse. As she absorbed this, he went on. “A few ground rules for you while you’re enjoying my hospitality.” He waved his hand around the small room. It was an efficiency apartment, drab with only the bed, a few rickety chairs and a kitchen table as furniture. The place looked abandoned.

  “Number one, you do what I say to the letter. Number two, you get to drink or eat or piss or whatever your bodily need of the moment is only after you suffer a punishment. If you handle the punishment well, I’ll reward you with my cock. When I am not using you, you will be tied down. If you try anything funny, I’ll chain you to the bed and I’ll gag you. I’ll sedate you and starve you. You’re completely at my mercy, got it, chickie baby?”

  Anne couldn’t answer, as she’d fainted dead away.

  Robert rubbed his cock, reaching into his jeans to grab hold and pull it upward. He felt almost dizzy from the power rush he’d gotten from tying Anne down and threatening her. It was like a cocaine high. He could conquer the world. It didn’t hurt that Anne was naked, completely exposed for his viewing pleasure. Bitch. She was where she deserved to be.

  She’d had a chance to sail on his yacht, to sleep on his 1000-count cotton sheets, to attend the best parties, go to the most upscale clubs, fly to Paris for dinner on a private jet, all with him, Robert Edward Langley III, one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. Instead here she was in a dump, tied down on a filthy mattress, at the mercy of a madman…

  He stared at her luscious body. When she’d fainted, he’d repositioned her spread-eagle and he liked what he saw. He had a good view of her pussy from this angle. Her tits looked soft and inviting, ready to be squeezed and bitten. He could do whatever he wanted. The regular world didn’t exist in this secret haven he’d secured for them. Reality was suspended and no rules applied except the ones he chose to impose.

  Things were going very well. For a moment he fantasized about keeping her here forever. Who would be the wiser? He’d turn her into a zombie sex slave, like in the stories he enjoyed reading online sometimes. The girl was kidnapped and brainwashed, a willing slut-whore, chained to the bed when he wasn’t there, on her knees when he was…

  Robert shook his head, shaking away the idea. Already this was risky, far riskier than any other revenge plot he’d exacted over the years. If he were caught, he could do serious time. No, he wouldn’t take stupid chances. He’d just keep her overnight. Teach her a lesson. Then he’d inject her once more, tie her loose enough to let her get herself free but tight enough to make her work for it. By the time she got away, he’d be long gone.

  He’d rented the place for a month, using cash and a false ID. It was all so absurdly easy. Who would ever connect Robert Langley, businessman, millionaire, mover among the powerful, with some creep who lived in a dump in Harlem? Even if Anne figured out who he was, which wouldn’t happen—women were so easily fooled—it would be his word against hers.

  No one could pin this on him. But Anne would never forget it. When she went flouncing out in her skimpy dress, would she wonder at each man she saw, would she be afraid he might be lurking around the corner, ready to abduct her again? He’d take the saucy gleam out of her eye. Already she was terrified and he hadn’t even begun to have his real fun.

  Robert rubbed his cock harder, thinking what a shame it would be to waste his jism, especially when there was a cunt right there for the taking. He’d planned to make her suffer first but she just looked too damn good tied down and spread for him. He moved toward her, pulling his pants and underwear to his knees. Aware Anne would probably go to the police and aware of DNA testing, Robert pulled a condom from his pocket and unrolled it onto his erection. God knew where the slut had been anyway—better safe than sorry. He rubbed his sheathed cock a moment, staring at the spread-eagled naked girl as power surged through him like a drug. He fell over her with a grunt just as she opened her eyes.

  ~*~

  Paul lifted the small crystal orb from its leather travel case, unwrapping the soft velvet that protected it. He was worried as Anne hadn’t answered her phone, nor returned his several voice messages. Up until she’d suddenly fallen silent, they’d talked at least twice each day for the three days he’d been gone. He had considered cutting his trip short, longing to fly back to her. Yet he respected her need for time alone. Now he was beginning to be seriously worried. She was all alone in the big city. Since mortal means of contacting her weren’t successful at the moment, he decided to track her by magical ones.

  Dropping a pair of panties she’d left at his apartment into the small pot of viewing potion, Paul stirred it thoughtfully for a moment, remembering how she’d tossed them with a coquettish laugh before falling upon him with delicious abandon. He sighed and sat down with the orb, the potion’s aroma now swirling in the air of his hotel room.

  The crystal went from black to gray to pink and finally cleared. He was focused on the present, conjuring his true love. As the image formed itself in the glass Paul stared a moment, not comprehending. Anne naked and bound on a filthy old mattress. He watched in disbelief as a man, his pants at his ankles, bent over the prostrate girl. The blood in his veins turned to ice as he stared in horror at the ball, barely aware as it slipped through his fingers and crashed to the floor, rolling under the bed, black and dormant once again.

  ~*~

  Anne’s cell phone rang, a plaintive cry issuing from her purse across the room. The man who called himself Greg—she refused to call him that, refused to call him anything—heaved himself off her. Anne closed her eyes and tugged against the rope that held her down.

  “Fuck,” the man snarled. Moving to the table, he grabbed Anne’s purse, pulled it open and removed the phone. Drawing back his arm, he hurled it toward the wall. On impact the ringing stopped abruptly. Anne felt as if her last connection to the world had just been yanked away. She felt dizzy and sick, as if she might vomit. A tiny part of her kept waiting for the clock alarm to go off, the nightmare to end. But she knew this nightmare was real.

  The man returned to stand in front of her. She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut. “Open your eyes,” he said. “Look at me while I’m talking.” She obeyed, not knowing what else to do. “That damn phone distracted me. Where were we?”

  “Why?” Anne cried, her voice trembling. “Why are you doing this? Please, I’m begging you. Please let me go. Let me go!” Anne strained at her bonds, desperate to close her legs, to free her wrists. Bitter bile rose in her throat and for a horrible second she thought she was going to throw up. Lying as she was, she could choke on her vomit. She could die here on this filthy bare mattress with only this monster as her witness.

  “I’ll tell you why. You’re being punished because you’re an uppity cunt. You think you’re better than the men around you. You think you’re too good for men most women would sell their souls to be with. You’re being punished because you’re a dirty slut.”

  Anne stared at the man. He was obviously completely insane. How could he possibly think he would get away with this, whoever he was? Surely he knew she would go to police, there would be an investigat
ion. She realized with sudden sickening clarity—there wouldn’t be an investigation if there was no one to report what had happened. He must be planning to kill her. Oh God, oh God, oh God, I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

  Anne took a deep breath as she tried to control herself. Don’t panic. Approach this logically. Think! She could do something. She might be tied down now with no one aware she was missing, but she wasn’t hurt and she had her wits. If only she had a magic spell to help her. A magic spell! Anah rrrrathra. Anah hebuk. Woiyek, woiyek, wigafey… The words swirled into her brain. Yes! If she could somehow get free, long enough to say the spell.

  The man was bending over her, untying her legs, which were secured at the ankle by rope that had been tied off underneath the bed frame. “I’m going to untie you because you’re going to get your first punishment. I’m going to put you over my knee and spank your ass. If you try to get away, I’ll tie you down so tight you won’t be able to wiggle.” He leaned over her to untie her wrists from the headboard posts. “No funny business,” he warned as he stood back. “Stand up and come get what you deserve.”

  Anne considered bolting. She felt weak from the effects of the drug and from hunger. It had been hours since she’d eaten and she was still very thirsty. She had to do something. She had to escape. How absurd to die here with this odious man when she had her whole life before her.

  Her natural courage began to reassert itself as she thought of Paul. Paul would want her to fight. He wouldn’t expect her to give in without resistance. This man had the upper hand in terms of strength but she’d seen no gun. And she had something he didn’t have—magic.

  Could she get by him fast enough to get to the door? Where were her clothes? Wrapping her arms around herself, she stood slowly, glancing around the room. She saw her clothing, tossed in a pile in a corner by the door. She felt dizzy standing and sat back down on the old lumpy mattress.

  “I said get up,” the man demanded, now sitting on the chair once again. Anne stood.

  “Please, this is crazy. I’m begging you. Please.”

  “Good, I like when you beg. Now get over here and get your ass on my lap. Move it or I’ll make you crawl.” His tone was hard and Anne obeyed, biding her time, her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst through her chest.

  Reluctantly she lay over his lap, feeling absurd, terrified and utterly humiliated. She didn’t dare refuse him. He was nearly a foot taller than she and much stronger. Nonetheless she felt ashamed as he pressed her head down between his legs and put a strong hand on her lower back to hold her in place.

  His hand came down hard and Anne yelped, instinctively covering her ass with her hands. “Move your hands. Now!” he roared, smacking her hands along with her ass until she moved them away. He hit her hard, methodically covering both cheeks until she began to whimper and cry, her head caught between his legs, her hair dragging on the floor.

  When he tired at last, he gave her a push and Anne fell to the floor. She curled into a ball, crying softly. “Put a lid on it.” she heard the man say. “Get up. You’re okay. Get up.” She felt his boot prodding her side. Anne struggled to her knees. Slowly she stood, hugging her body, her hair hanging over her face.

  The man actually sounded contrite as he said, “I got a little carried away. Your ass is just made for spanking, Anne.”

  Anne stood miserably, her poor bottom on fire, but she hadn’t missed the contrition in his voice. For the first time she felt hope kindle like a tiny flame in the wind. “May I sit down, please? I’m so tired and hungry.” As she stood, hugging her body, she began to tremble, shaking so violently the man actually approached her and pushed her to the bed.

  “Sit there and don’t move,” he ordered. “I’ll get you more water and some crackers I have.” He pointed toward her as he walked backward toward the kitchen, his eye upon her. “Don’t move. Got it?”

  Anne rocked on the bed, commanding herself to get a grip. If she could get the guy talking, perhaps he would be distracted enough for her to try the spell. “Anah rrrrathra. Anah hebuk. Woiyek, woiyek, wigafey, Anah rrrrathra. Anah hebuk. Woiyek, woiyek, wigafey.” Anne whispered the words, praying she had the intonation and spacing right.

  After handing her the bottle and a handful of crackers, he sat on the chair across from her. It occurred to her as she drank the water that it might be drugged. It had no taste however, and she was just too thirsty to resist. She ate the crackers. They were stale and dry but much better than nothing at all.

  He was watching her. She had to get him to talk, to distract him somehow while she was still untied. “Please,” she began. “Please let me go. I can get you money. I promise I won’t tell. Just let me go.”

  “When I’m good and ready, cunt. Not a moment before. Girls like you think they run the world. Now you see you’re just another cunt, just another piece of ass put in her place.”

  As he continued his delusional misogynistic ramblings, Anne began to whisper the words, barely moving her lips, focused so intently she no longer heard his words but only the sound of his oddly familiar voice…

  “Anah rrrrathra. Anah hebuk. Woiyek, woiyek, wigafey, Anah rrrrathra. Anah hebuk. Woiyek, woiyek, wigafey. Anah rrrrathra. Anah hebuk. Woiyek, woiyek, wigafey, Anah rrrrathra. Anah hebuk. Woiyek, woiyek, wigafey.” As their eyes locked, Anne said aloud, “Anah rrrrathra. Anah hebuk. Woiyek, woiyek, wigafey, Anah rrrrathra. Anah hebuk. Woiyek, woiyek, wigafey.”

  He stiffened suddenly as if he’d been frozen, his mouth still open in discourse, his hand raised in a gesture to emphasize a point. Anne stared at him a moment, stunned. It had worked! First a lovebird, then a pigeon, now a human. She had done it! She stared at him a moment longer and noticed his hair looked odd. Slightly askew. As if it were a wig. A wig. A disguise.

  Anne stood. She knew she had to run, to get out before he unfroze. She had maybe five minutes at the most. But she had to know what was under that toupee. Tiptoeing toward him, she reached out to touch the hair, half afraid he would leap to life and grab her. He remained immobile as she pushed at it and then grabbed it, pulling it free of his head.

  His thick blond hair was pinned down beneath it. With a sickening flash of recognition Anne finally put it all together. His height, his voice, now his blond hair. The sick bastard was getting revenge because she’d rejected him, refused his roses. She couldn’t believe he’d go to such absurd lengths to get back at her. It was junior high school gone horribly, dangerously awry.

  Anne felt rage pumping through her blood like a poison. Her hands clenched at her sides and she raised her fist, ready to smash his smug face. But the thought of contact with his flesh, even in violence against him, horrified her. The time for revenge would come later. Right now she had to get out. To connect with Paul. To get to the police.

  Hurry, hurry, hurry… She raced to her clothing, worriedly watching the statue of a man as she pulled on her things. Her anger had given her strength she might not otherwise have been able summon. Robert Langley would pay for his crimes. She would make sure of it.

  She had no idea what time it was. It was still night outside the dirty window of the apartment. She hurried to the table, grabbing her purse. The cell phone lay where it had fallen. Anne grabbed the pieces and stuffed them into the bag. She scanned the dim room for the man’s wallet but found nothing. It was probably in his pocket and she certainly didn’t plan on touching him again.

  Turning the deadbolt with trembling fingers, Anne pulled the door open and sprinted out toward freedom, adrenaline giving her the strength to fly down the stairs and out into the night.

  “Taxi,” she cried, waving wildly as a yellow cab drew to the curb. “Take me to the nearest police station.”

  Chapter 13

  “There’s an extra fifty in it for you if we make good time,” Paul told the cabbie as he leaped into the backseat of the taxi and slammed the door. Properly motivated, the driver screeched out of his place at the head of the taxi line at Kennedy Airport. Paul ga
ve Anne’s address in the Village and turned his attention to the traffic lights.

  He tried to keep calm. He’d managed to make it this far without completely losing his mind. He’d tried to banish the horrible image of the tall man, his pants down, bending over Anne, tied down naked on a bed…

  The image had rendered Paul nearly insane with dread, desperate to return to his lover, to save her, to free her, to murder the man who had kidnapped her. Hastily he checked out of the hotel—the second art auction be damned—and raced to the airport in a hotel limo. He’d barely made it onto a flight just leaving for New York. If only Concorde were still flying. A whispered spell to the official at the gate allowed him to board without the mortal inconvenience of purchasing a ticket or presenting a boarding pass. Still, warlock or no, he was forced to endure the ensuing seven-hour flight, unable to change the laws of physics on so grand a scale as to hasten the jet’s arrival.

  Please, please, oh please let her be okay. Let me get there in time… The moment the plane touched the runway he flipped open his phone and held down the speed dial button. He had almost cried with relief as Anne answered, “Hello? Paul? Paul, oh Paul.”

  “Anne, sweetheart. What happened? Are you safe? Are you home?”

  “Yes, I’m okay. I’ve been trying to call you for hours. Paul, come home. I need you.” Despite his fear for her, the words warmed his heart. She needed him!

  “I saw your image, Anne. In the crystal orb.” He realized as he said this he’d forgotten the little crystal globe back at the Paris hotel. Not that it mattered. What was a magic trinket compared to the safety of his girl? “I saw…” he hesitated, trying not to betray the anguish in his voice. Surely she was upset enough without his adding to it. “I saw you tied to a bed, Anne. A man, someone, was leaning over you. I tried to reach you but only got voicemail. I’ve been so terrified for hours. Thank God, you’re safe. What happened?”