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“How many years has it been now, Sam?” Rowena asks, her fingers sliding smoothly over the deep emerald green silk. This is her favorite time of day, the repetition of it soothes the magic raging inside of her. “Do you remember what a state you were in when I found you?” Her fingers curl, the lacing pressing into her skin. A liquid heat drips down her spine as she gives the chord a sharp tug and the body in front of her gasps.
“Eight. It’s been eight years, Mistress,” Sam says, his voice breathy but even.
“Oh, my. Has it really?” Rowena asks, feigning surprise, taking a moment to tug on the strings again. Deftly bringing a loop up to her teeth, her fingers, now free, fly up the lacing. With practiced ease, she releases the strings from between her teeth and Sam sighs as she tightens again.
“Almost there, Love,” Rowena purrs, “remember how long this took us the first time? Such a brat you were about the whole thing.”
“It was uncomfortable then,” Sam counters, rolling his shoulder. And, what lovely toned shoulders they are, so much strength, so much power. Rowena swallows her sigh at the thought of painting runes over all this beautiful flesh, soon. Soon.
“Oh, and it’s comfortable now, is it?” she chirps playfully, even as she makes her next pull slightly rougher.
“I wouldn’t go that far, Mistress,” Sam says with a smile. The fire in the hearth cracks and pops, filling the air with the scent of birch and thyme. The golden light warms Sam’s profile and makes his hair glow like honey.
“Good,” Rowena says, drawing her eyes from Sam’s face and resuming her work. “How do you feel?”
“Alright,” Sam replies, softly. “It’s tight, so breathing deeply or talking for long is difficult, but I feel good, supported, comforted.”
“Such different feelings from when we first took you in, hmm?” Rowena says. “When our sisters brought you to me all those years ago, I’d never felt such potential from a woman, let alone a young boy.”
“Thank you, Mistress,” Sam breathes, his shoulders flushing as the ceremonial corset is bound tighter and tighter around his torso.
“Ach, do not thank me, boy. You worked hard to get where you are. Most of that was just convincing your own blood to let you leave at such a young age.”
“Once you healed my mother’s burns it was much easier to persuade them.”
Sam’s voice has gone high and soft. It’s such beautiful music to Rowena. She knows she shouldn’t, but she just can’t help how her body reacts to binding one of her coven into their corsets. Each soft sigh, every surprised gasp builds a fire inside of her.
There is so much in the world she can control, her magic giving her more freedom than she knows what to do with. And, when the natural world bends to your every whim with but the snap of a finger, it all can become boring, tedious. But this,
this
is something different. To be
freely
given control. That is a true gift.
Routinely, her coven comes to her and shares these moments of meditation. Giving her control over their breathing, their bodies. Letting her decide just how tight, just how much. It makes their bonds that much stronger, their magic flowing open and free between them as Rowena binds their corsets. It’s always different with Sam, more charged, heavier. She’s never sure if its his aptitude, or his beauty, but he makes her magic sing through her veins.
“I am grateful,” Sam says, drawing Rowena from her thoughts.
“Of course you are, child. And the coven is grateful that you have decided to bind yourself to it.”
“It is the least I could do in return for your teaching, training, and kindness.”
“Oh, don’t lay it on too thick, love.” Rowena laughs, yanking on the strings and pausing as Sam lets a moan slip past his lips. She pulls once more just to hear the sound again before tying them off. “We all know you’re doing it for the library.”
“It's a really great library,” he manages breathy and husky. She knows what the binding does to him, almost the same thing it does to her. The heat in her core growing liquid warm, Rowena runs the tips of her fingers over the exposed flesh of Sam’s shoulders. Each brush of their skin sends tingles over skin, the magic thrumming inside this young man, calls to her. Dances just out of reach, how she wants to bath in its enticing glow.
“Alright, turn around and let me see you,” Rowena says voice low, arousal feeding her magic, readying her body for the ceremony to come. She steps back, running her hands down the front of her bodice, her fingers stray low, dipping between her legs and pressing softly where she’s wet and swollen; just enough to send shivers up her spine. “Stand closer to the fire, child, I want to see how the silver embroidery picks up the light.”
Sam turns, stepping towards the hearth. The corset is heavily boned and compressing his waist and rib cage. His silhouette is elegant and enticing, the forced sloping curve of the bodice and the hard masculine angles of his broad, toned shoulders contrast beautifully in the flickering shadows of the firelight.
The embroidery on the corset is delicate, swirling, curving lines rise like smoke before twisting into birds in flight. Sam doesn’t show any outward signs of embarrassment at the erection straining the front of his breeches. It’s not the first time he’s come out of a binding in such a state, and each time it occurs, Rowena fights the urge to touch him. Tonight shall be different.
“Lovely,” she sighs, stepping close and running her fingertips along the top edge of his corset. The skin there is plump and warm and it makes her ache to bite it, to see the blood rush up under the surface, so fresh, so youthful. Gently she turns her hand and traces the careful stitching down towards his navel. Sam fidgets before her, his hips swaying forward as a small wet spot bleeds the green satin of his pants dark and inviting.
“You are a sight to behold, Samuel.” Rowena purrs stepping in so her body presses against the younger man’s. “Do you remember the first time we did this, how you begged me to help?”
In one slow drag, she drops her hand down and cradles the length of Sam’s erection. The weight of his straining cock is heavy against her small palm. Sam shivers, biting his lip before tossing his head back and exposing his throat. Rowena watches with delight as he swallows, his pulse fluttering like mad just beneath the surface, begging her to lay claim to all that he’s offering.
“Mistress,” Sam breathes, swaying forward, his hips moving in small abortive thrusts, sliding the thick length of his engorged cock through the loose grip she has on it. “Rowena…”
The sound of her name has electricity dancing over her skin, filling her head with buzzing and before she can stop herself she’s pushing him back, pressing him down onto a fainting bench set before the hearth. Sam sprawls out before her, arms akimbo, long honey brown hair flowing over his shoulders to drape towards the floor. A perfect sacrifice ready for the gods and her magic.
“Say it again,” she commands, advancing until she’s crawled up onto the bench and kneeling over his shins, pulling the length of her ruby dress up as she goes. Her core throbs with need, the magic in her blood pumps, makes her head spin and her breath come in short pants. Her nipples ache with each breath she takes their stiff peaks dragging over the soft satin of her gown. It’s driving her crazy.
“Row,” Sam smiles up at her, a wicked thing, his eyes flash in the firelight and magic sparks green and amber around his shoulders. Slowly he rolls his hips up in offering, his erection pressing against the laces of his pants.
With a soft moan Rowena waves her hand and the ties keeping him contained, unbind, his pants peel away exposing the thick, weeping, length of his cock to her. It rises hard and flushed from a nest of downy soft curls. For all the times she held off, for every advance she pushed aside, tonight she takes what is hers. Between her spread legs her core throbs, aches, swells. She needs this, and the magic will have to forgive her.
“Manere!” She whispers in Latin and her magic surges to do her will. Sam’s arms lift and snap back against the cushions next to his ears. He opens his mouth to complain but with a wave of her hand she cuts off his voice. “Tonight is not about you, Darling.”
Sam frowns, his eyes sparkling dangerously, the magic crackles around her as he strains against his bindings, but to no avail. His cock twitches, a thick bead of precome leaking from the swollen tip and Rowena laughs softly. “My sweet boy. So needy. Finally ready. It must have been so hard for you, growing up without release. A sacrifice to the Gods, to prove your worth, your dedication.”
Leaning back Rowena pulls the length of her dress up, and rolls her hips forward. Sam strains, eyes wide, mouth silently gaping at the sight of her wet pussy, shaved clean and glistening under the wash of red and gold fire. Her fingers slide down and Sam groans low in his throat as they disappear between her wet, swollen folds.
“Ahh, Gods,” she moans, licking her lips. She puts herself on display for him, parting her labia and gently stroking over her clit. “So good, so perfect. Watching you grow, come into your power, seeing you blossom.” Rowena gasps as pleasure swells from where her fingers stroke. Sliding lower, she dips them inside, just enough to coat the tips and draws them back again. “Would you like a taste? Just a sample of the power you so crave?”
Sam nods, his breath short and slow due to the corset, his pectorals pushing up, hard and full at the top of the corset. It’s a beautiful sight. Rowena leans forward sliding her body up his until she sits just a breath away from his cock, so close, yet so far.
“Open for me, my pet,” she says and Sam opens his mouth, tongue swiping out and dragging along her fingertips. His eyes roll back and his body pulses as he swallows her juices. Before he even relaxes Rowena moves forward, moaning low and long as his cock slides between her labia, dragging over her clit and sending waves of power and pleasure up through her body.
Her hips roll, pressing Sam’s cock down against his abdomen as she slides her pussy up and down the length of it. How wonderful would it feel to have such a thick, hard cock splitting her open. To feel the wide head entering her, carving out space and hitting her deepest parts. The magic they could create together….
“Rowena…” Sam moans, his head tossed back, his hips buck as he gasps, dropping his eyes to watch where they are connected. She too looks down her body to where her hips piston, rolling smoothly, the head of Sam’s cock sliding in and out between her labia, rubbing over her clit and sensitive walls. “Let me inside... let me…” His biceps strain, thick corded muscle bulging against her invisible restraints.
“No, no–not tonight,” Rowena gasps as Sam’s frustration fuels her fire. His skin is flushed with blood, just as she needs it to be, and her fingers itch to cut him, to bind him to her and the coven for all of eternity. “Soon, though. Soon you will be the coven’s to have, your mag–magic, your b–body…”
Rowena gasps, grinding down, her pussy clenches around nothing, rippling empty and wanting, she comes to the thought of being the first, his first. Rolling her hips and moaning, her hands find their way to her breasts and she squeezes her nipples through the satin of her dress. Sensation makes her back bow and below her Sam groans low and deep, his hips lifting to try and find his own release.
It takes her a moment to come down, to focus her eyes at the beautiful sight before her. Sam is straining against the fainting bench, the tendons in his neck and shoulders bulging, the veins running up his thick forearms stand out pronounced as he grunts, rocks his hips up against where Rowena is soft and wet for him.
“Please,” he breathes, biting into his bottom lip. He’s so lovely, the power radiating from him, his frustration making him primed and ready for the ceremony to come. “I’ve waited, so long…”
Without answering, Rowena lifts up and swings her self from Sam’s lap. Her legs are wobbly and weak as she straightens her dress again. The sounds that leak from Sam’s throat, so resigned, so deliciously frustrated, send pleasure curling low in her gut.
“Not yet, my Samuel. You know you cannot have release until you are accepted into the coven. Your body, your power, your…” Rowena leans in and runs the tips of her fingers up the thick vein on the underside of Sam’s wet cock. “Pleasure, it must always be for the ancient ones.”
“Y–Yes, Mistress.” Sam bites out, anger and understanding lacing his words.
“We have much to do yet…” Rowena says, waving her hand and releasing Sam from her hold. Immediately his hand flies to his cock, one large fist curling around the base and squeezing. He closes his eyes and takes a few calming breaths, before pressing his cock low across his hip and lacing his breeches back up again.
“Come, sit,” Rowena says, brushing a stray hair back from her cheek. With a snap of her fingers, an inky black velvet robe floats to her outstretched hand. Sam rises slowly, his breathing thick through his nose and lowers himself onto a tuffet next to the writing desk, his back rigid shoulders lifted against the confines of his corset. With a wave of his hand flames jump to life in the candles.
“Do you even remember what it was like before your magic?” Rowena asks. Coming up behind Sam, she drapes the robe over his shoulders, hiding the beautiful expanse of his unmarked skin. Gently she runs her fingers through his hair. It’s long, falling well past his shoulder blades, and shimmers, glossy in the firelight.
When they had initially found him, Sam was not but a slip of a child, barely skin and bones. When all is considered though, his biological family, lived well enough, mother a seamstress and father a hunter, as they were. Even with the extra money brought in by the older brother working as an errand boy, it was enough for a normal family, but for one with a child like Sam… they were just getting by. Magic needs to be fed, fueled, and given space to grow. Sam was stagnating. In danger of losing his power and potential, completely.
Her coven had initially brought him to her because they thought they’d found a girl with enough latent ability, enough power to become Rowen’s heir and apprentice. How surprised they were when Sam turned out to be Samuel. An angular face and broad chest hiding behind locks of thick hair and baggy second-hand clothes. It wasn’t until later when Sam’s aptitudes were tested that they realized just how close he’d come to losing his power.
There comes a point, in all magic users lives, when they are growing, maturing, where the body, when given just enough energy to survive, will decide, to fuel the body and snuff out the magic or to die with it. Nature always chooses survival without magic. However, find and nurture a child with the spark of magic; feed it and the child and they will grow together. If her coven had not stumbled upon him when they did, Sam’s magic would have starved and faded into nothingness.
Sam laughs, dragging Rowena from her thoughts, “I fear not, Mistress.”
“Then it is good you shall never know another day without it. Hush now, it’s almost time.”
Rowena weaves two small braids leading back from Sam’s temples, on either side of his head, down behind his ears to the ends of his hair. As she braids, tension slowly leaves Sam’s shoulders, his body relaxes and his eyes slip closed. She takes the braids and winds them around and through the rest of his hair, leaving the majority of it free-flowing, but contained. It wouldn’t do any good if it got in the way during the ceremony.
“You have twenty minutes before the sisters finish preparations, this time is yours to do with as you wish. You must not touch, Sam, your pleasure, your seed belongs to the old ones.”
Leaving Sam to his musings, Rowena exits the small sitting chamber and descends into the grand hall, her heeled shoes tap against the large stone staircase. With a flick of her wrist the two massive, carved wood doors open to reveal the main chamber. It’s been transformed for the evening, the main tables pushed off to the sides and draped in deep green satin, alighted with candelabras, and adorned in offerings of meat and cheese, bread and jams, wine and mead.
The large stained glass windows are draped in heavy velvet and in the massive hearth roars a fragrant fire. The dais, normally situated along the northern wall, has been moved to the center of the room, and upon which sits a plush, crimson pillow surrounded by a circle of candles.
Her sisters flutter around the room, their dresses, a ray of brilliant colors, shimmering silks and satins, glow under the candlelight like the gems adorning Rowena's wrists. The magic is palpable, already she can feel the gods waking, turning their attention and energy towards her.
What would have taken another coven many weeks to prepare has taken hers but a fortnight. There is a reason the Coven of the Blood Moon is one of the most respected, most influential,
wealthiest
in all the seven kingdoms. Her sisters’ magic and insight is valued all across the lands and their services do not come cheap.
Stepping up to the dais, the witches there bow low and back away, leaving Rowena to admire their work. Runes and ancient symbols are chalked all along the dais, and as Rowena steps across them, they glow briefly. Magic hums along her blood, calling to her, begging to be wielded.
“We are ready, Mistress.”
“Ah, excellent.” Rowena smiles, her fingers trailing over the only other object aside from the kneeling pillow on the dais with her. The ceremonial blades glint silvery sharp in the ambient light cast by a hundred candles floating overhead. All around her the elder sisters lower their voices and take their places, forming a circle around the dais, their hands lifted, eyes riveted.
“I call upon the east, pay heed to your child. I call upon the west, gaze upon your servant.” As Rowena speaks, the elder sisters begin to chant. The candles on the east side of the room flare and go out, followed quickly by those on the west. “I open the gate of the north and call to me, the guardian. I open the gate of the south and call to me, the watchful eye.” The candles to the north and south flare and the room is dropped into darkness.
“I am the conduit, through me your deeds shall be done,” Rowena, bound by the ancient words, caught up in the flow of magic, the pull of power in her veins throws her hands wide and from her being bursts forth brilliant blue fire, igniting the room in a flash of stunning light. The fire sweeps over her sisters, and leaving them untouched, reignites the candles around the room and brings a calm sense of warmth to the great hall. “This space is cleansed and the spirits are with us. Bring forth the sacrifice.”
The double doors at the end of the hall swing wide and Sam steps into the light. The black velvet of his robe flows down from his shoulders and drags along the floor behind him. The brilliant shimmering green of his corset and breeches shine like emeralds as the robe splits around each step he takes.
Energy crackles along the walls, sparks sizzle and jump each time Sam puts his foot down and steps closer to the dais. As he takes his first step onto the stairs, Sam reaches up and strips the robe from his torso, bearing the flushed flesh of his shoulders and arms. He moves fluidly to stand before Rowena and the kneeling pillow.
“I come before the great ones to make myself worthy in the eyes of their ancient power. May they find me a suitable conduit for which to channel their power,” Sam says, his words echoing above the chanting.
“Kneel,” Rowena commands, her voice layered upon itself, as the power flows through her. Sam drops fluidly to his knees, tosses his head back and holds his arms out before him, just wide enough for Rowena to stand between them. He makes a lovely sight, and already her fingers itch to hold the ceremonial blades. “The oil?”
Holding her palm out, a small clay jar is placed wordlessly into it by one of her sisters. “I anoint you, Samuel Winchester,” she says, dipping her fingers into the oil and running them down the bridge of Sam’s nose, over his lips, down his chin and neck to finish at the hollow of his collarbone. Setting the jar aside, Rowena finally picks up the ceremonial blade.
The metal is cool and heavy in her hand. The runes etched into its surface, a millennia ago, feel new and smooth under her palm. The blade is small and sharp, designed to make precise deliberate cuts. A shiver runs up her arm and down her spine. “And by my blade, may you be made anew.”
The first slice is always the hardest, not for Rowena of course, but for the offering. She makes it slow, drags it out, pours magic into it, lets the sting sink deep into the flesh, settle like a burn into the bone below. This is the moment she savors in her memories, as the first crimson rivulet of blood wells up, an offering to her, to the gods, to the magic that ebbs and flows around them at all times.
The runes must be placed, perfectly, along the flesh left bare at the edges of the ceremonial corset. Every inch of skin is used from the top of Sam’s pectorals to just below his neck, winding down his biceps and wrapping around his forearms. Each one of his long fingers is cut and adorned in blood and magic, a different symbol, a different spell. Rowena slips seamlessly into the carving trance as she places one rune after another along the exposed flesh.
Sam does not disappoint. His pupils contract and expand rapidly, his lips part and a soft sigh escapes his lungs. It won't be long now, Rowena can tell, she can always tell, just when the magic takes someone for the first time. Really washes over them and takes control. Sam will be no different.
Each cut she makes, each new rune etched into his perfectly smooth skin sends him higher. His aura pulses with energy, spirals tightly around him and Rowena is not surprised to find him hard again. Her own body flutters and grows wet as his magic reaches out for her, alluring, enticing.
She stands strong against the invitation to take him, it is too soon, though he is sinking quickly under the power being poured into him and before Rowena has even reached the center of his chest Sam’s eyes are rolled back, gazing unseeingly up at the ceiling and glowing faintly. Blood runs sluggishly, leaking from each symbol to soak into the top of his corset; staining it with his promise, with his bond to the coven and the magic they are fostering in him.
Time melts away, the air hangs thick with smoke, pungent from herbs, Sam holds steady as Rowena paints his skin with her blade, adorns him with runes. Carves their pact directly into his very being. When she’s done, Sam radiates a pale lavender light, his power awakened fully and ready to be molded. Blood soaks his corset and the tips of Rowena’s fingers. Lines, some already scabbed, some still freely bleeding, swirl and cut from his collarbones to his wrists, over his shoulders, and along his back. Intricate patterns that reflect the coven, their magic, and Sam’s promise to serve.
“The tears?” Rowena calls, holding her blood-soaked hand out, a small vase is placed into her palm. “Through these tears, you shall find rebirth, as the phoenix rises from its ashes, so shall you arise, anew. Bound in blood, sealed in magic. The angels weep for you no more.”
Tipping a large pile of shimmering white powder into her palm, Rowena bends down and rubs it into the wounds now covering Sam’s skin. Sam screams as the powder works it’s way into his wounds, ensuring they will scar. It is the first real sound he’s made since the ceremony started and it curls warmly through the air. Around them, some of the sisters moan, their bodies heavy and sway, wrapped in the magic Rowena has cultivated. She can taste their pleasure on her tongue, the waves of their orgasms ripple through the smoke and incense infused air.
“Sam Winchester, you have been judged by the Gods and been found pleasing,” Rowena says loudly, her voice once again layered over itself as the power of the ancient ones flows through her. “Your blood sacrifice has been accepted. You have one more gift to give tonight.”
Slowly, Sam stands, grimacing as some of his wounds pull and reopen, he holds his hands out palms up and Rowena places hers on top of his. The sisters cry out, bodies undulating as Sam steps close to Rowena, his erection pressing against her stomach. “Tonight you give the gift of chastity, long have you suffered, eighteen years to give the Gods this most precious gift. From this night on you shall know not only power but pleasure. Here with the gods and the blood moon as our witness shall you spill your seed for the first time.”
Rowena entwines their fingers, bringing their palms into alignment. Slowly she pours her power into Sam, heating his body and fueling his arousal. “This first gift is for the Gods,” Rowena whispers, arching her neck and Sam bends to capture her lips. He moans against her mouth, his hips pressing forward, rubbing his cloth encased cock against her stomach. “The next will be for me.”
“Yes, my Mistress,” Sam breathes, his eyes closed, his tongue swipes out and licks into Rowena's mouth. She deepens the kiss, sucking his tongue as she focuses her magic, winding it around his cock, bringing him towards his peak. It doesn’t take long, with how wound up the poor child is, and before the first kiss ends, Sam is arching, crying out and spilling into the soft cloth of his breeches.
All around them, the sisters echo his pleasure, falling and writhing under the pulse of Sam’s magic. Even Rowena’s pussy flutters, empty and wanting, as his power washes over the room. When he draws a fresh breath, and finally opens his eyes they glow brightly for a moment, amber in the light of the candles and then it fades as his power settles.
“Listen and hear my call,” they speak together, voices cracking like thunder, the glass in the windows shudder behind the heavy drapes. “We close the North gate and return the guardian to slumber. Hear us watchful eye, we close the South gate and blind your sight.”
An angry wind whips up, moaning and circling the hall, rattling the tables. “I call upon the east, and the west.” The fire in the hearth roars, exploding against the stones and burning up into the chimney. “Return to your domains, sleep your long slumbers, your children thank you. We close the gates”
All at once, everything falls quiet again. The sisters hold their breath for just a moment and then explode into cheers.
“Allow me to introduce our first ever mage, Sam Winchester. The heir apparent to the Coven of the Blood Moon, and my newest apprentice.”
“Now what?” Sam asks, his fingers tremble as he gently pokes a protection rune etched into the soft skin of his forearm.
“Now we drink!” Rowena says, snapping her fingers a crystal goblet appears in her hands. Sam attempts to copy the motion but ends up setting off a small explosion. “Right…. Now that you’re officially part of the coven, your new powers are going to take a little…getting used to. For now, just stick to simple spells.”
This time when Rowena snaps her fingers, two glasses appear, she hands one to Sam and smiles over the rim at him. “I promise, your training will be very…
hands on.”
The blush that rides Sam’s cheeks, as he turns away, spreads a liquid warm heat through Rowena’s core. Yes, Sam Winchester will be her perfect heir.