by Mael d'Armor
‘Come morning, we both lay spent by our hawthorn bush. I was the first to wake up when the lark piped up. I held this wondrous lover in my arms, looked upon his sleeping face and uttered the spell. The binding charm. He opened his eyes as I was speaking the final words.
‘“Please, don’t,” he pleaded, as the air around us began to pulse, raising a curtain of mist between the forest and our hawthorn bush. “You do not know what you are doing.”
‘He was wrong. I knew full well. “Do not despair, my lord,” I said. “I will not abandon you. Every full moon, I will return to this misty tower to lie in your arms. And, when I absent myself, I will leave behind a live memory of me to comfort you.” This was, you understand, but a small concession. I was hooked on the guy, and though a part of me hated this dependence, for it had almost capsized my plans, the other part loved it. Besides, I reasoned to myself, I had the best of both worlds. I would be queen of the magical world and still get my fill of the man I’d deposed. Could I honestly ask for more?’
29
There is a momentary silence. Viviane is sporting a complacent smile.
‘More tea for our guest, André.’
‘I’m pleased to see I’m not the only talkative one around here,’ says Jenny.
Sandra’s concentration has dipped. In fact, it is wavering like palm leaves in the wind, for the tale of Viviane’s racy past has started preying on her imagination. Her barely dormant beast has once more awoken. And she is feeling the full brunt of her enforced tea binge.
She shifts on the couch, tilting her hips and arching back, trying to ease the pressure. Again, her needs have merged insidiously, deliciously. She is horny as hell’s hot pools. And although she is trying damn hard to rein in the flow, she is of course losing the fight and exuding some of her wet excitement.
She closes her eyes in the hope of softening her visions. Delay the inevitable. For a part of her would like to hear more. But her hand does not care a bit about the past and glides up her thighs — to her sumptuously swollen folds.
‘Hands off yourself,’ commands Viviane.
Sandra almost jumps at the words and pulls her trembling fingers away. Then breaks into a pathetic whimper. She wants this so much she could cry. But she must wait. She knows she must wait on the goodwill of her host. Obey her as she would Jenny.
‘Poor you,’ teases Viviane, ‘I can read you like a kinky sex manual. Already falling hard through the cracks of your fantasies. Fine then. Let’s make it easier for you to resist the temptation.’
She turns to Jenny.
‘Would you be so good as to tie Sandra’s hands behind her back?’
Jenny seems most happy to oblige. The stud-in-waiting hands her a leather strap and she busies herself behind Sandra. Her task performed, she throws in a few extras. Pulls down Sandra’s tunic to her waist, lets her fingers float around her nipples and then, eyes smiling, baits her earlobe with a devilish tongue.
Sandra gasps in heavenly shock, her hair roots electrified. She feels her breasts blooming with desire, her laced urges flaring up within her. She strains back against the couch.
‘And just to be on the safe side,’ tweets Viviane, ‘I’ll make it impossible for you to hit the high-water mark. For now. Hope you don’t mind.’
She mumbles a few enigmatic words.
‘I want you to hear what I’ve got planned, you understand. I’m a little vain in that way. I like to keep my audience squirming on my every word. Or if not on my words, at least squirming.’
Another cup is brought to Sandra’s lips.
‘Please, none-more,’ begs Sandra. But André’s hand is insistent and she must yield. For a moment, the bittersweet taste of the tea in her mouth takes her mind off her terrible randiness. But the relief is all too brief. She has to drain the cup and add to her ordeal.
‘I suppose you know why Viviane has been telling you all this,’ says Jenny.
Sandra remains silent. She can only think of the wetness swamping her, effusing like liquid honey. Can only think of touching herself. Having someone touch her. Her thoughts fly to the gorgeous tea man behind her. To his warrior pecs and Spartan butt. To his fingers wiping the drops off her chin. His fingers that could do things to her. Diabolic things.
‘Can’t you put two and two together?’
‘Sorry,’ sighs Sandra, fidgeting on the couch. She is thinking she would like to be licked by that scrumptious tea man. Can already feel his mouth making her gag on her pleasure.
‘It’s all . . . It’s all very mental-boogling,’ she says lamely. Yes, mindboggling. As is the thought of the tea man’s clever moves on her clit. Fuck. She doesn’t know. Doesn’t know how long she can last like this, hanging on her tenterhooks.
‘I just thought you might like to know who Yaouen really is,’ says Viviane.
Sandra stares through her liquefaction, then understanding finally dawns. She should have guessed, but the hot scenes preying on her mind are far too befuddling.
‘Are you saying that Yaouen and Merlin . . . ?’ She trails off.
‘Precisely. Merlin is being coquettish. Using his old Breton name.’
‘But I thought you trap-caught him forever?’ She shifts again on her seat, thinking how that tea man could insert one curled finger into her. How he could unleash his tongue on her pleasure spots. Milk her of her richness, teasing suck by teasing suck.
‘Is there such a thing as forever?’ sighs Viviane. ‘Mountains rise and fall, like civilisations. An inevitable cycle. But Merlin did manage to escape more quickly than I had anticipated. We’ll come to that in a minute. The point is that he is back in the picture. Which, you might be surprised to hear, is not all bad, as far as I’m concerned.’
Sandra is not surprised. She is not unsurprised. She is agonising. Agonising on the tea man’s wicked finger. On his lips that seem to have flipped all her lubricious switches again. Pushed the art of clit tease to its aching limits. She would like to explode but the spell is holding her back. Condemning her to her slow, tortured seep.
Her throat splits in a raspy moan.
‘Now who’s the naughty girl? Who’s not paying attention?’ husks Jenny in her ear, before reaching casually for her breast to twiddle with an erect nipple — and then give it a sharp nip.
Shards of mixed sensations go flying through Sandra.
‘You wouldn’t want to displease me, would you?’ Jenny’s tone is a blend of sweetness and steel.
‘Non . . . Non . . .’ whispers Sandra. She must obey. Drag herself away from her promiscuous thoughts.
‘Good. So focus then.’
‘Merlin and I have had a complicated relationship,’ proceeds Viviane, eyes twinkling at the spectacle of Sandra’s syrup-coated trials. ‘The cunning old bastard is sexy, clever and powerful and in spite of myself I love him to death. But I have my pride and I am ambitious, and I will not play second fiddle. So I tricked him in a way that some would see as unpardonable. That he probably sees as unforgiveable. A terrible breach of his trust. But then he knew perfectly well what he was letting himself in for when he started spilling his magic beans, which means he has mostly himself to blame for his downfall, as well as his lust for girls a quarter his age. He is aware of that of course, and though he probably wants his revenge, how much and in what form is a moot point. Especially since, in spite of everything, he also loves me to death.’
She looks at Sandra. ‘As I said, a complicated relationship. Which appears to have got even more intertwined now you’re here.’
Sandra is failing dismally not to think of that tea man rousing her to distracted heights. Not to think of how expertly he could leech her wet swell with his fiendish lips.
God, oh God. A short while ago she might have cared about her complicated relationship. Might have wondered where indeed that left her. Falling for a guy who really loved another her. Who shagged her silly but raced like a hare from commitment. Who gleefully screwed up her life in Sydney, maybe because he was out to get the other h
er for what she did to him.
Yes, she might have cared.
But it all seems so distant now. Irrelevant. She has been thrown in the thrall of other masters. Become a pawn in the hands of Jenny. Of this other her. Of her own distended needs. All she wants is to be fucked. Toyed with. Taken advantage of. And right this second, all that makes sense is to be sweet-leeched by that spunky guy behind her.
Perhaps she has gone insane. Or perhaps she was always meant to be just that. To become that. A toy. A fantasy. A gorgeous illusion. For she cannot remember this other life. Her alleged past. She cannot remember all this magic. Just a vague image of herself by a lake, getting vaguer with each passing moment.
‘Jenny tells me Merlin doesn’t have a clue there are two of us,’ Viviane is saying. ‘He might figure it out soon, but by then it’ll be too late for him to stop me. And to eschew the role I have lined up for him.’
She leans over conspiratorially, like she was sharing a secret with her best friend.
‘You see, Other Me, I’m out to give this good old world a makeover.’
‘Viviane is keen to put the triple A back into Absolute All-out Ambition,’ says Jenny, pinching Sandra’s nipple hard again to ensure some measure of attention.
‘And the triple G into Gritty Go-Getter,’ confirms Viviane. ‘Some time ago, I started looking at the bigger picture. It wasn’t just about me, I realised. It was time we took charge — with me at the helm, obviously.’
‘By we, Viviane means women.’
‘Indeed. Men have been swaggering at the top of the food chain for far too long. And they’ve screwed up in a mega big way. Even a single-brain-cell organism could see that. The wars, the famines, the genocides. And don’t even start me on how they’re effing up the planet — excuse my French — with fossil fuels and the rest.’
A frown is darkening her pretty face.
‘We need to restore some balance to all this. Give nature back its voice. But that can’t happen as long as the boys are calling the shots. So I had to think of a way to change that. Make them hand over the sceptre.’
She casts her guards what could be called a matronising look.
‘Now, killing them is not an option, tempting as it may be. Too bloody, too gross.’
‘Plus there is a danger you might break your nails,’ adds Jenny.
‘And that would defeat the purpose,’ continues Viviane. ‘Turn us into the very things that are the root of our problems. I am at heart a protector of life, though I’ve cut a few corners. So I’m going for the softer option. Men make perfect servants, with a few benefits.’
She snaps her fingers and André leaves his post behind the couch to pick up hers and Jenny’s empty cups. She slaps him playfully on his yummy backside as he bends over.
Sandra flinches with envy. Before André has stood back up, she is swept off by the promise of his firm arse. Is already writhing in mindless abandon as she gets nailed on the floor. Oh hell. She is that close to spilling a couple of good hard moans. But she mustn’t. Jenny said so.
The tea man vanishes with the empty cups.
‘And the best way to achieve that,’ resumes Viviane, ‘is to hit them in the balls, metaphorically speaking. So I’m creating a new sisterhood of sexually adventurous women.’
‘What Viviane means,’ says Jenny, ‘is women who can prey on men. Like succubi.’
‘Succuboobies?’ whispers Sandra, floundering in her sea of raunchy visions.
‘Yes, that’s the general idea, but more fetching. No bat wings, no horns, no forked tails, no weird fangs or spine-chilling claws for hands. Just a healthy lupine appetite. And with more discriminatory powers. They don’t shrivel you to death. Just suck out the will and leave all the good bits intact.’
‘You’d be amazed,’ says Viviane, ‘what black magic can achieve if carefully applied. And my horny girls can also make converts. Very useful when you try to take over the world. You need the viral effect.’
Horny. The word echoes in Sandra’s mind. Horny like her. Desperate like her. Horny and desperate like the creature licking and snapping at her heels, at her toes, her ankles, waiting for its chance. Her salacious demon, kept in dripping suspense by Viviane’s spell.
She whimpers ever so slightly at the prospect of surrendering to its grasp. Ever so slightly, for she must not antagonise Jenny. She must please her. Obey her. She squirms again, angling back her hips as much as she can, arching into the couch.
Viviane continues, smiling mockingly at Sandra’s torment.
‘Now you may be wondering why you and I, and why Jenny, have kept such a wholesome glow after more than a thousand years. You may be wondering if we are immortal. Let me put your hopes to rest. We are not. Naturally, like all sorcerers and fae people, we have our little ways of slowing down time. And some of us can shapeshift at will or get a magical nip and tuck. But this would not have been enough to see us through the distance. Perhaps your good friend Jennifer can enlighten you on that point. She knows that part well.’
‘I do,’ confirms Jenny. She looks at Sandra. ‘You are paying attention, honey, aren’t you? I wouldn’t want such a lovely tale to go to waste.’
Sandra nods weakly and muzzles another whimper.
‘Perfect.’ Jenny clears her throat. ‘Remember I told you how I ended up with a fish tail when my city went down?’
Sandra only has strength for a vague assent.
‘Trouble is, I don’t like smelling of fish. Not the sexiest scent, you’ll agree. Though some say that’s what a pussy smells like. But clearly those detractors have never been anywhere within a mile of one.’
‘Ahes, please, get to the point,’ tuts Viviane.
‘Sure. So I just had to find a way to lose the tail. That’s when I thought of Merlin. I’d heard through a dishy young baron I had seduced that he was held captive in Brocéliande. And I knew that if anyone could counter a mermaid charm and turn me back into my old self, he was the one.’
‘Why on earth didn’t you think of me?’ asks Viviane, looking a tiny bit offended.
‘Well, I’d also heard he’d been trapped before you could learn all his magic from him. So he seemed like a safer bet.’
‘You see,’ says Viviane to the squirming Sandra, ‘this is precisely why we need to take over the world. Until we do, a woman will never be trusted to do a tough job as well as a man.’
‘My apologies, my queen,’ says Jenny, before continuing. ‘Like all Mari Morgans, I could not leave the coast and estuaries. Unless I was airborne. Not many mermaids are aware of this loophole. So I sent word to my father that if he had the slightest compassion left in his heart, he could maybe come over on his flying horse to pick me up at a fishing village of his choosing. Or if his heart was still set against me, could he perhaps send me the horse alone? He just sent the horse — which suited me fine. I managed to hoist myself up on Morvarc’h — a tricky move owing to my tail — and hung on to his mane for dear life as he soared up in the sky. We flew above Brocéliande for three days and three nights. And then Morvarc’h sensed something, though all I could see was a shimmer in the air. He swooped and took us deep into the forest. Soon, I was staring through the mist at a handsome wizard. His face was faint, like in a dream, and I knew I could not get closer. Somehow the mist was keeping me out.
‘“I thought you were older,” I said.
‘“Cut the chitchat,” Merlin replied. “Why are you here?”
‘“I have come to ask a favour, O Great Merlin.”
‘“I knew that,” he said. “I’ve had a vision.”
‘“Then forgive me for asking you why you are asking me why I’m here, O Great Merlin, for you must surely know this, on account of your vision.”
‘His eyes took on a mean expression, he turned crimson and I thought his ears were going to pop off.
‘“But we can skip my silly question,” I added hastily. “It was badly phrased anyway.”
‘I explained what I wanted. He said he was happy to oblige
but there were a few caveats. I had to set him free. I had to give him Morvarc’h. I had to reform my ways. I had to become his right-hand maid. I had to swear never to ask him to teach me magic. And I had to give him a daily back massage. He was a tough negotiator, but so was I. I got him to drop the mandatory massage. I was quite proud of myself for that. A girl has to assert herself. Of course, he would not change me back before I freed him. I expected that. But I still had no idea how to set him loose. He said he did.
‘“Tonight, when the new moon has plunged the sky into gloom, ride Morvarc’h as high as you can, and higher still, till your fish tail goes all frosty. Till you can peep over the walls of my misty prison. It is open at the top, and much wider too. You can fly into it and then come down for me. Piece of cake.”
‘He seemed quite chirpy now and even winked at me. So I did as he told me. Come darkness, I rose on my noble steed until the air was thin and I could hardly breathe. But finally, I crested over the mist. And then started on a swoop. That’s when things went pear-shaped. All sorts of shapes, in fact. As I dropped from the stars, Morvarc’h was caught in a draught and started spinning, faster and faster. It felt like being sucked down a giant whirlpool. I freaked out but couldn’t do zip. We were plummeting so fast. Last thing I remember is Merlin’s beaming face just before we hit him. He was holding something. A triskele maybe. There was a flash and stars everywhere, and more spinning and mad whirling. And then I passed out. When I woke up, I was on a beach in Mauritius with Merlin by my side. And Morvarc’h was trotting happily in the surf.’
‘And I too, the author of the spell, was dragged into this mess,’ adds Viviane. ‘I went out with a zap and woke up in two places at once. Under a rock in a cove near Vannes. And, it appears, on the other side of the globe. Out there, unknown to me, I now had, you might say, a perfect splitting image.’